A studio with mirrors for walls.
Looking for a place to live in NYC just sucks. That’s certainly no secret. And though I’m not currently looking myself, watching others I care about go through it still serves to fill me with vicarious anxiety.
Ok, maybe not. But still. It’s a vivid reminder of just how hard and discouraging it is; just how many horrible places you’ll see before finally finding one you can stomach—one for which the sacrifices you will no doubt make are acceptable to you, and which just may, by some miracle, boast some quantifiable improvement over your current situation.
It also serves to remind me how lucky I am to be somewhere I like (going on two years—woo hoo!) which, by some miracle, I can just about afford. Because believe me, it ain’t cheap. There is perhaps no luxury in NYC that comes at greater cost than living alone. (Well, barring addictions, but I suppose those go beyond the territory of luxury and into that of self-destruction—a fine line to be sure.) And it’s good to have a reminder once in a while of just how lucky I am to be able to do it. Chances are if I had been forced to live with a roommate (or worse, roommates) this past year, I just may have crossed another type of line—the threshold at the doorway of one of those far-fetched and yet somehow always seemingly possible -als.
Oh you know: homicid-, suicid-, pathologic-, there are just so many fun ones... Take your pick.
Ok, maybe not. But still. It’s a vivid reminder of just how hard and discouraging it is; just how many horrible places you’ll see before finally finding one you can stomach—one for which the sacrifices you will no doubt make are acceptable to you, and which just may, by some miracle, boast some quantifiable improvement over your current situation.
It also serves to remind me how lucky I am to be somewhere I like (going on two years—woo hoo!) which, by some miracle, I can just about afford. Because believe me, it ain’t cheap. There is perhaps no luxury in NYC that comes at greater cost than living alone. (Well, barring addictions, but I suppose those go beyond the territory of luxury and into that of self-destruction—a fine line to be sure.) And it’s good to have a reminder once in a while of just how lucky I am to be able to do it. Chances are if I had been forced to live with a roommate (or worse, roommates) this past year, I just may have crossed another type of line—the threshold at the doorway of one of those far-fetched and yet somehow always seemingly possible -als.
Oh you know: homicid-, suicid-, pathologic-, there are just so many fun ones... Take your pick.
posted by P/O at 3/28/2006 03:59:00 PM
3 Comments:
Hey I had a roomie for lamost 2 years and it wasn't so bad, but I prolly had one of the maybe 5 in exsistence that aren't bad lol. I can imagine NY being expensive, my hubby is from there too. But yay for you for being able to do it all on your own, it's a great feeling despite all the work involved lol. =)
Hehehe... guess its good that I moved out when I did. I'd hate to have sent you (or witnessed you) spinning over the maniacal, homicidal, pathological edge. ;)
that refers to any roommate except you, spixter. :)
robyn, you're right about all the work, but it's worth it. and fear not, i had roommates for the first 27 years of my life, so i'm no stranger to co-habitation. :)
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