Between April of 2005 and January of 2007 I moved something like eleven times. One of those times I was seven months pregnant and moved from Chicago to a suburb of Phoenix.
Emily and I moved in to this apartment on January 15th, 2007. She has lived here longer than anywhere else, in her entire life. Today I packed up her room and got all of the furniture out except for the beds. I almost cried. I am so ridiculously excited to start this new chapter of life, and I can't wait to live with the person I love, and that I'm actually in love, and that I'm doing something by choice and not by force. It's amazing.
Right now we're sitting in my living room on camping chairs. The Girlfriend is playing playstation and I have this thing in my lap. I've been working on a piece of art for you all, pictured below. This is part stolen and part touched up, to include a general idea of my setup of the apartment. It's little.
(First off, I know the picture sucks. I wasn't having fun in paint and I gave up after five minutes. Secondly, I changed the size of it so much that it's blurry and since it's not a picture I care about, but rather a picture for demonstration, I didn't care enough to fix it. Thirdly, the thing on the right of the bedroom, kind of next to the couch is my computer desk and the thing in front of the couch is the TV stand with TV on top, and a bookshelf on either side.)
526 square feet of MINE. When I moved here, it was winter. And it was cold. I had just had a falling out with a roommate that I adored and decided to move to make life simpler. It was just Emily and myself, and I loved it that way. Emily and I lived here and I was so fucking proud of myself for being able to give her someplace secure, someplace of our own. Slowly, I began realizing what a shit hole this place is, complete with mold, no security and Mormon RAs. The families that live here are, in general, wonderful. I've had a couple run-ins with graduate students that are complete assholes, but I'm pretty sure I'd be an asshole too if I were in graduate school and trying to raise a three year old. Anyway. The people are wonderful, and I've made some friends here. Emily has as well.
The school keeps raising rent, though. When I moved in, it was a very good deal. Now, two years later and rent $150+ higher (and going up $50 more in July), it no longer makes sense. I knew last year that I wanted to leave this year. And then, I fell in love.
We are moving to a place that has MUCH more space, and it has a patio, and a swimming pool in the complex and THE LANDLORDS AREN'T MORMON thank god. Nothing against the Mormons, just that we don't have many, at least not public ones, in Chicago and um, wow. I've seen enough glazed eyes and have had enough visits from some "sisters" for a lifetime. (Funny story, at the apartment I lived in previous to this one, my downstairs neighbors were two young Mormon men on their missions. They met me and, to my surprise, didn't pass judgement. Instead, they would be kind and say hello to me, often stopping to hand me a prayer card. I gladly accepted the cards, because they were never ever trying to shove anything down my throat. I got to know the cute one a little bit. Of course, all of our conversation was on my porch, because there were no MEN IN MY HOUSE so he couldn't come in, weirdo. I found out that on the mission they can't listen to anything but church music, or something, and so I would make play lists of his favorite bands and BLAST them from my patio when he was outside. I totally caught him dancing, and tricked him into saying that two girls in a shower would be hot. I wonder if he's still Mormon? Tangent. Anyway.)
So anyway. I am so excited. I've been planning where to put things, instead of just figuring out how the hell to fit my couch somewhere. I've been looking at decorative things, like picture frames and curtains and rugs, instead of never bothering because there are very few ways to warm up white concrete brick interior. Did you know it's damn near impossible to put anything on brick that's impermanent? It is. A few drunken nights spent with a hot glue gun succeeded in getting some things on my walls, but, well, I was drunk and using a glue gun. Yeah. Not so pretty.
I am so excited for Emily to have space to play and for her to have a room that isn't as cramped. I'm so excited at the possibility of ZOMG SOME PRIVACY. But, I'm sitting here tonight, staring around and I'm actually a little sad. All I want for Emily is stability, consistency, a loving home. And with as many problems as I've had with this apartment, those things have been constant. Our little home may be ghetto, and cold, and dangerous, but it is one filled with love. I know, it's cheesy. But it's true.
I hope I have enough love to fill a bigger place. I'm sure I do; My heart feels like it's swelling over most of the time. I guess this post can be entirely summed up like this: I hate to admit it. And I'm more happy than I can describe to leave. But, I'm sad to leave the place that holds the most memories of my adult life.
Goodbye, family housing. I'm never coming back.
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