Warning: nothing cooking related here. Just general effusiveness and rambling.
My apartment and I are in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, no question. I embrace the constantly chirping birds outside my windows, the galley kitchen, the mysterious absence of a coat closet. It embraces my borderline hoarder tendencies, prolific shoe and clothing collection, and unpredictable happy hour schedule. Naturally I can only hope that we never leave this stage behind. If I get to keep having afternoons like yesterday's, I'd say we've got ages before the post-closing glow fades (especially since I haven't actually closed yet).
You see, I spent yesterday afternoon surrounded by sun, beer, a baguette, and a book on the roof deck of my new building. The temperature was perfect, the roof was deserted, and I got to look at nearly a 360 degree view of the city, including a glimmer of the Washington Monument in the distance.
Maybe this doesn't sound so exciting to you? I don't know, it's probably nothing special. I've just never had a roof deck before, and outdoor space is appealing when your life is confined to 850 square feet. Humor me.
Just when I thought I couldn't be more content, watching the beginnings of the sunset from the roof, my friend called me from a few blocks away and invited me to an impromptu happy hour with some of her high school friends. In ten minutes flat, I went from solitary relaxation to bustling happy hour socializing. And then, when we'd all had enough, it was only another ten minute walk (down a charming, row-house lined, leafy street) home. Not only would such spontaneous get-togethers be impossible when I lived at my old place, but it'd also take me about an hour (sometimes more) to get home from most places in the city.
All of this to say that I'm enamored with my new set up. I'm sure I'll have my moments of panic about the weighty commitment of buying a place. And I'm sure the first time the sink leaks or the oven goes on the fritz, I'll be a basket case. But for right now, I walk around on a little cloud, feeling like everything is just as it should be. No, it's even better than it should be. For the first time in too long, I'm just plain excited about things again.
My apartment and I are in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, no question. I embrace the constantly chirping birds outside my windows, the galley kitchen, the mysterious absence of a coat closet. It embraces my borderline hoarder tendencies, prolific shoe and clothing collection, and unpredictable happy hour schedule. Naturally I can only hope that we never leave this stage behind. If I get to keep having afternoons like yesterday's, I'd say we've got ages before the post-closing glow fades (especially since I haven't actually closed yet).
You see, I spent yesterday afternoon surrounded by sun, beer, a baguette, and a book on the roof deck of my new building. The temperature was perfect, the roof was deserted, and I got to look at nearly a 360 degree view of the city, including a glimmer of the Washington Monument in the distance.
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| (my roof view, borrowed from the listing) |
Maybe this doesn't sound so exciting to you? I don't know, it's probably nothing special. I've just never had a roof deck before, and outdoor space is appealing when your life is confined to 850 square feet. Humor me.
Just when I thought I couldn't be more content, watching the beginnings of the sunset from the roof, my friend called me from a few blocks away and invited me to an impromptu happy hour with some of her high school friends. In ten minutes flat, I went from solitary relaxation to bustling happy hour socializing. And then, when we'd all had enough, it was only another ten minute walk (down a charming, row-house lined, leafy street) home. Not only would such spontaneous get-togethers be impossible when I lived at my old place, but it'd also take me about an hour (sometimes more) to get home from most places in the city.
All of this to say that I'm enamored with my new set up. I'm sure I'll have my moments of panic about the weighty commitment of buying a place. And I'm sure the first time the sink leaks or the oven goes on the fritz, I'll be a basket case. But for right now, I walk around on a little cloud, feeling like everything is just as it should be. No, it's even better than it should be. For the first time in too long, I'm just plain excited about things again.
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