I’ve lived in my current apartment since May of 2000. That means I’ve lived here longer than any other home in my life.
It’s been a good apartment. Which is a surprise, considering that I had no idea how long I’d stay here. I only saw two or three apartments when I decided to move to Sunnyside, and availability was more important than quality.
Having only shared apartments before, a one-bedroom for just myself was downright luxurious. I lived on my own terms, which often meant “like a slob,” and spent several years underemployed while working all day on various writing projects and the occasional freelance job. I set up an office in the kitchen, actually, which I rather liked.
After the missus and I married, she joined me in this one-bedroom apartment. We both had lots of books, and she added instruments. Not to mention all of the other things that people have. You know, like clothes and furniture.
I had to give up a comfy chair. I loved that chair. But it was truly massive, and it just didn’t fit anymore.
We’ve been pretty much cramped in this space since 2004. Even without the comfy chair, it’s always been too small for both of us. We’re constantly culling our material goods down to what we deem to be essential.
We’ve made it work, though, even as both of us have, at various times, done our jobs from the apartment. Friends sometimes call it cozy, a few have said they like the vibe here, and it’s always felt like home.
Still, we’ve dreamed of adding to our space somehow.
The day we were waiting for Hurricane Irene to arrive, we noticed a neighbor packing up a moving truck, racing against the clock. She lived in a two-bedroom, and she gave us a quick tour. We rather liked it. So I got in touch with the management company.
And after more than 11 years in the same apartment, the missus and I are moving.
All the way across the hallway.
And now that we have room again, I’m looking for a goddamned comfy chair. Boy, I really want a comfy chair.