The Loft

When my brother moved away from Seattle, he was unwilling to let go of his catch of an apartment. Like a prized heirloom, he wanted to keep the place in the family. Luckily for him I needed a place to stay once I got back from China. After graduating from the UW dorms and a brief stint in First Hill where I lived in fear that I would be abducted by the homeless people living in the camps by the freeway every night, my brother's apartment was the Renter's version of the American Dream. The apartment was two story one bedroom loft with huge windows facing 15th Avenue on Capitol Hill. The neighborhood was super hip and comfortable. Aside from that, I won't get into details and specifications of the apartment and neighborhood because it will just emphasize how much I didn't deserve living in that apartment. Also, I do not want to instill feelings of resentment and bitterness towards me.

Because of the way the apartment was laid out, I couldn't really have any roommates, or I could except that I would have no privacy. I opted for privacy. A lot has been said about a person being by themselves, and so of course hilarity ensues. I stopped working because I started taking 18 credits a quarter, which meant I spent more time at home. I confined myself to my bedroom upstairs, except for the occasional back to back Seinfeld and Frasier from 10-12pm. I bought plants (for decorative purposes, not to improve the air quality) and knick knacks, in attempt to "tie the place together" and less like it was put together with clipart*.

I soon filled the place up with stupid shit like candle holders in the shape of a chicken, oil lamps, wooden fruit, excessively large glass vases and ceramic owls and fish plates. Say what you want but I didn't purchase them with the intention that they were ironically hip. Then, through a combination of reintegrating back to Seattle life and the depression that follows and the fact that I can be a little weird sometimes, I started to develop some OCD like behavior. For one, I was truly convinced that I was going to burn the apartment down somehow so everytime I lit candles, blowing them out wasn't enough so I would put them in the freezer, of course, making sure that they were really out and not one of those trick candles that lit up again. If I had used the heater the night before, I would check the thermostat before leaving the house, which meant that I would be at the door and wasn't quite sure if it was off so I would go upstairs and check it again. The same went for checking to see if the door was locked. All the freedom and luxuries of living by myself was lost because I felt that everything I did would destroy the apartment, including turning the volume up on my speakers.

In retrospect, I wish I had moved out of the place. I would've saved a lot of money, and would have probably had one of those enriching college-aged experiences through interacting with real people. Then again I wouldn't have a fun story to tell.

*We accumulated a lot of furniture from various people -other college students- and places so nothing really matched. It was a very utilitarian aesthetic.