Galileo Galilei

A couple of days ago I wrote a lengthy diatribe about the difficulties I was having finding a room. The me of this past Saturday was angry, fed up, and ready to drop dollars on a studio knowing the lease would be broken, or, far worse stay in the toy room at home.

I recant. I take it all back. I have nothing against CraigsList, rooms, New York City, apartments, or life in general. In fact, I’m pretty much on Cloud Nine. Fuck it, I’m on Cloud Ten. Eight Hundred. I’m skipping down the street, I’m singing out loud, I’m tipping like I’m dying tomorrow because people, I’m moving. I’m out. A. Di. Os. 86 suburban wastelands, Hastings-on-Hudson, Westchester in general. I’m so happy I’ll empty bus bins without rubber gloves.

I’m not trying to put myself on blast, but let’s just say that I better brush up on my ABCs because I’m about to hit Alphabet City. The East Village is calling my name, and luckily there’s a room to which I have a key.

I’m elated. Just as many a girl dreams of finding that perfect guy to whisk her off her feet and ask her to be his wife, I have dreamed of an apartment below 14th Street with exposed brick. And now it’s happening. Sick.

Now, of course, comes the telling everyone, which comes hand in hand with people’s distorted and unwelcome opinions. Most of them are with respect to the price (“$850??? That’s obscene!!!” Actually, it’s borderline free. Yes, living with parents is fiscally beneficial, but it’s emotionally costly and at a certain point pathetic. Progress, world, progress!) and others are about the roommates (“You’re going to live with people? And share the bathroom?” Yes, I am, as I have dozens of times. Travel. Live. Breathe. Open your fucking mind.) Still others are about the location (“Trendy.” “Douchey.”), and about how much money I’m going to blow living here (“You’ll make it a month before you crawling back to your parents’ house,”) When something good happens, everyone sure has a lot to say. And I’m glad everyone’s so concerned about my capabilities to manage my finances. It means a lot to me. Still, in my mind, totally worth it.

So as I finish organizing my clothes in this downtown box I now call home, I’m smiling. Hopefully this is a magical and creative new chapter of my existence during which I’ll achieve great things, meet fabulous individuals, and have tons of mind-blowing sex. An if not, I can always go crawling back to my parents’ house.

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