Post college. I shared a one bedroom apartment on the upper east side with a friend from Auburn. We lived above a bagel shop, had the occasional visiting mouse and loved our super Ricardo, who lived upstairs. Nice, as it was, I don't know that I was myself that year. Adjusting to New York and the working world was a lot for me. Even though I didn't feel at home this year, the experience was necessary. How else would I mark the grandness that was (and is) to come?
Now. I've lived on the upper west side with three dear roommates for the past year and a half.
Seems like a dream. Our quirky old apartment is fit with maids quarters and swinging doors for the butlers.We adore our Yugoslovian super Joe and his helper Zoran even if they can't get rid of our mice.There are trees and families and views of the river when you crain your head just far enough out the window.
I feel like myself here. This is my home.
I should tell you that I have a trickling and hopeful feeling that home may look very different next year. But, for now, I am quite content.
I like writing about home. Has to be good for your soul, right? It's part of a Blog Carnival going on! Enjoy.