I love my apartment. It's not a big place. I am sitting on the couch in my living room and can see the entire apartment from this spot. Except behind me, because my head doesn't turn that far. I spend a lot of time in this apartment. I have spent the past day and a half here without leaving, since my throat is apparently rebelling against the "no pain" rule I have with my body.
My apartment is peppered with little things that brand it as mine. My pictures, my books and movies, my mail left scattered around. Right now it smells of squash bread. The air conditioner is chugging away, and even though I'm not really watching, Scrubs is playing in the background. In a little bit, I'll go to bed, and all will be quiet, except for the occasional beeping of the key pad at the door under my window, and the thumping of footsteps of people coming home. Night is my favorite time of day here. Coming home from work, knowing there are no obligations until tomorrow...it's the best feeling in the world.
My apartment is my refuge. My apartment doesn't know what happened during the day. It is still here when I get home, comforting and solid. It has witnessed break downs and my crazy leaking all over the place. I am myself here, completely. I know the familiar sounds, the little quirks that every home has. I've only been here for two years, but it feels longer.
This is a really weird, cheesy entry. I apologize for my lack of funny lately. I'm feeling much more introspective than humorous. Life is changing, and so am I. I hope the funny comes back soon. Until then, hang in with me!