The walk to my apartment is a long one. And today, it’s snowing, so as I walk I’m getting pelted with ice bullets in the face for a solid ten minutes; trudging through inclement weather while trying not to body-check anyone because I am blinded by these ice bits flying everywhere. (Also, how do they always find their way directly to your eyes?)
Home. Finally. The studio is cute, but gosh it’s so small. It’s like one section of a regular-sized apartment.
In my apartment I don’t have proper blinds. I have these blinds that are essentially fancied up tissue paper glued to the top of the window sill. My fear is that one day, after a decidedly long bath, the clouds of steam will make the glue give way. At which point my faux blinds turn into theatre curtains, unveiling the stage and providing a free show for all my elderly neighbors. Or, at least for their house-trained dogs.
In my studio, there is also another strange and rare sighting: the pot (my only pot), the one that gets used to for all of the cooking. Once used, I wash it in a sink made for a dollhouse, making it impossible to contain the water. Doing dishes it’s as if the scene from Disney’s Fantasia, when the soldiers of brooms mop with engorged buckets, has taken place in my home.
Water. Everywhere.
And, did I mention that the apartment is dark? It's the, "I’m not sure if it’s 10 a.m. or 6 p.m" kind of dark. The sort of dark that no self-respecting plant is going to survive in.
But, I do like the colors of the studio. So much white. It feels minimalistic.
And I do really want to own fewer things, so the small space helps. So far, I have a bed, coffee table, rug, two lamps and the raddest, baddest, smartest…air filter. People may make fun of me, but it’s like a rocket ship. When it turns on, it sounds like it’s about to launch and blow apart everything in its path.
On my block, there are two bodegas, two laundry places, one pharmacy and a sushi restaurant. There used to be nail salon but they closed the week I moved in. But I figure, if a superstorm (or an AI-led rebellion) hits the city, I’ll survive at least for two weeks given my plumb location and all the available amenities. (Right?)
Also, the Hudson is only one block away. Which feels like such a fun thing to say - especially when you live in the most densely populated urban area in the U.S. However I have yet to visit this river for two very important reasons, (a) it is December-cold and (b) I am daily dragging my body home on a ten minute ice-walk.
And while this studio is new to me, I kind of think this might be it. That this will be my last apartment in New York.
Honestly my time feels as if it is up. I have a two year lease and will probably leave when it’s finished. After thirteen years, it’s time.
It is time, right?
The truth is I’m just so exhausted. I love this city. I can’t go, but at the same time I also can’t be here.
Christmas is almost here, so as I sit in the back of a cab headed to JFK for holiday travel I see an obnoxious Maybelline ad featuring a New York City brownstone. And yet, I feel sad that this trip might soon be behind me.
I'm headed towards a flight that will take me to San Francisco. This time, just for the holidays and then I’m coming back. But one day, I won’t.