I'm going to say we've decided even though we haven't officially decided. I see no other way for this to go.
We're moving down the street.
The apartment building is much older, making the apartment itself much more unique. Some of the walls slant like the attic of a house because we're on the top floor, there are these cubbies, for lack of a better word, in the bedrooms that make them not really squares. The square footage can't be that much different but it is definitely dispersed differently. The toilet has no back.
It's a fourth floor walk up.
This is the first move that isn't backed by me 100%. It would be easier not to move. I have grown accustomed to my high rise and all its little perks, like a mail room down stairs and a pool, whether I use it or not. And we're moving in September. AFTER classes start.
But we'll be saving at least $65 a month. I give up my dishwasher and elevator to save $65-$150 a month. (Heat is free there.) Elevator- eh. Dishwasher... I will miss you!!!!!
In the end, and this seems like a strange motivation or justification, but I think it will make my writing better. I'm not fully convinced of this and yet I am. A change of scenery. A more creative living space.
I'm not sure why, but this apartment seems to fit what my apartment should look like given my life style. I'm not sure why that matters or what gave me this idea to begin with. I'm not sure why the cave like feeling of it is appealing to me when I love my current large windows with tree lined view.
I think I'm just being romantic about writing in general lately. All summer I've barely written squat. I long sense proved to myself that if I don't interact with the world I have no drive to write, and yet I somehow thought that having all that free time would spur me to get so many floating ideas down on paper. Well it didn't.
What did was actually just writing again. I entered a contest, got an assignment. Did it, and ever since have had tons of ideas. I haven't acted on all of them, but the drive is back. The need is back. I don't know why I have to continually reprove this to myself or why I'm all work and no play or no work and all play and can't strike a happy in between, or simply just revel in the things I love to do- create- c'est la vie indeed.
As this morning. I am a rambler. I'm not sure this is even a cohesive entry. Nonetheless, I'm punching the key board cause I've got to get something down. And I can't nap.
We're moving down the street.
The apartment building is much older, making the apartment itself much more unique. Some of the walls slant like the attic of a house because we're on the top floor, there are these cubbies, for lack of a better word, in the bedrooms that make them not really squares. The square footage can't be that much different but it is definitely dispersed differently. The toilet has no back.
It's a fourth floor walk up.
This is the first move that isn't backed by me 100%. It would be easier not to move. I have grown accustomed to my high rise and all its little perks, like a mail room down stairs and a pool, whether I use it or not. And we're moving in September. AFTER classes start.
But we'll be saving at least $65 a month. I give up my dishwasher and elevator to save $65-$150 a month. (Heat is free there.) Elevator- eh. Dishwasher... I will miss you!!!!!
In the end, and this seems like a strange motivation or justification, but I think it will make my writing better. I'm not fully convinced of this and yet I am. A change of scenery. A more creative living space.
I'm not sure why, but this apartment seems to fit what my apartment should look like given my life style. I'm not sure why that matters or what gave me this idea to begin with. I'm not sure why the cave like feeling of it is appealing to me when I love my current large windows with tree lined view.
I think I'm just being romantic about writing in general lately. All summer I've barely written squat. I long sense proved to myself that if I don't interact with the world I have no drive to write, and yet I somehow thought that having all that free time would spur me to get so many floating ideas down on paper. Well it didn't.
What did was actually just writing again. I entered a contest, got an assignment. Did it, and ever since have had tons of ideas. I haven't acted on all of them, but the drive is back. The need is back. I don't know why I have to continually reprove this to myself or why I'm all work and no play or no work and all play and can't strike a happy in between, or simply just revel in the things I love to do- create- c'est la vie indeed.
As this morning. I am a rambler. I'm not sure this is even a cohesive entry. Nonetheless, I'm punching the key board cause I've got to get something down. And I can't nap.
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