Who willingly chooses to sign the first apartment they even see, on the 13th floor?
Bold move. I must not be a superstitious being. When overenthusiastic rental agent Jim took me into the model unit, I was instantly sold on the corner view. I envisioned a life of dinner parties watching the sun set over southwest Chicago. We'd all enjoy glasses of wine and laugh about adult things while the city lights electrified the night skyline. The mental picture was nothing short of romantic, glamorous, and completely naive.
I have lived in my apartment for 28 days. I have spent 14 of those days in the DC area and I start my first consulting gig tomorrow, with a flight at 7:15 am to St. Louis, where I will move into my third hotel and seventh bed of the month.
At home in Chicago, the wind howls louder than the sirens running down Belmont and Broadway, my hub of a corner. Rattling windows, too much sunlight, and a linoleum flooring that almost looks like wood, we're living the highlife on floor 13. I spend the afternoon laying across my first-ever queen-sized big-girl bed, wondering how to fill the space, feel at home, and maximize my time. The minutes spin by, spiraling away from me, and I can't even keep up with myself.
In the past 8 months, I haven't slept in the same bed for more than 10 nights in a row. I've been in 8 countries, each memorialized in scattered photo prints around my unfinished bedroom. I have spoiled myself silly, and now I have to pay rent and do work and be an adult. I've barely even started my job, and I already save to retire from it?
I am absolutely terrified of so many things. Of missing flights, of oversleeping alarm clocks, of gaining weight, of spending nights alone in these impersonal hotels, of missing out on Chicago, and of lacking routine.
This life has its perks and laughs too. Watching me do cardiokickboxing, build a full set of dining room chairs, and eat the biggest piece of pizza ever are just snippets of my life at 22. The funniest stories are not really bloggable, but feel free to ask about the present gone wrong and the fingerstache.
Just the fact that I signed a lease for an entire year on the 13th floor is funny enough. I wonder what other not-so-bad mistakes I'll make.
