Last night, I went out to Panini’s in Brunswick to celebrate my friend Greg‘s birthday. As we were sitting around the fire pit on the patio, I got into a conversation about how I wanted out of my apartment and into…and how some of the guys around me wanted out of their houses and back into apartments.
Let’s get the facts down first: I hate living in apartments. I hate the people around me. I hate the noise. I hate shared walls. I hate having to unlock two doors to get to my place (even though that makes me feel safe). My first apartment in Brunswick was pretty much underground…full of spiders…dark…damp. I felt like a mushroom.
My second apartment is bigger–still on the first floor–but nonetheless, it is still an apartment. It’s a two-bedroom, but I can honestly count the times I’ve opened the door to that second bedroom on one hand.
Now back to the bar conversation–the guys have houses-nice big houses-that I would kill for. They have driveways and garages and yards. They have a home–a reason to decorate and actually make it feel like a home.
Now me–I don’t have a yard. I can’t even hang a bird-feeder for the cardinals. I don’t have a balcony (1st floor), and I can’t open my windows because the fucking (white trash) smokers at the front door (who have awesome grammar and language skills, by the way) stand there and bitch and blow smoke into my windows. I don’t normally judge–but seriously. I am alone in my apartment. I have all the time and space to myself. And I hate it.
Now, the guys I was talking to–the ones with their nice houses and their yards–sometimes long to be back in the one-bedroom apartment stage of their lives. WHY?!
Simplicity–yes, I understand that. And that’s pretty much it. I mean, I don’t get it.
But maybe it’s a gender roles thing. Maybe men want to go back to that primitive way, and women want to move forward? Maybe… Or maybe it’s because I am alone and long for Mike to be with me in my living arrangement, and once you’re older and have been with someone for awhile, you want to go back to solitude. I don’t know. I don’t get it.
All I know is that I can’t be bothered to decorate my apartment to make it feel like home because it isn’t home. It’s a temporary place that will hold me until I can find a place with Mike to call home.
Maybe the grass is just never greener out of your current window.