Ode to My Apartment, Part 2

In 2003 when I got laid off from my advertising job, there were some days when I never left my apartment. Maybe it was because I was depressed. Maybe it was because there was really no need for me to go outside other than to collect the mail from my front porch. During my 4 months of unemployment, my house became a cocoon of comfort for me.



I would sit at the table, at my desk, on the couch, on the floor, pounding away at my laptop keyboard, pouring my heart into a novel attempt. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I remember thinking, "Wow THIS is what it could be like if I became a real writer." I could just wake up in the morning and start working on my book. I wouldn't even have to put on clean underwear. But I wouldn't have any human interaction, either. And despite the days that I spent willingly avoiding contact, that was the thing I missed most about being employed.



I did a lot of cleaning during that time. And rearranging of knickknacks. When you spend that much time in one space, you can't help but want to spruce. I refused to paint, though, because I was convinced I'd fall in love and move on before the paint job really became worthwhile. Here we are, 7.5 years later...

My sweet living room has gotten me through a lot of rough patches. The carpet in it has been a soft landing place for me many times. Its electrical outlets have powered my writing and reading and online dating. And even though its walls stayed a bland shade of off-white, they also kept me safe and sheltered, in career sickness and in health.

I am 100% sure there will be nights that I miss this little place.