The Apartment

I just moved into a place on Capitol Hill. I had a what the fuck moment when I walked in today, after all the paperwork had been filled out. I was grabbing the jacket hooks, rubbing them against my fingers, caressing the kitchen tile. "Mine," I said aloud to no one and everyone, in the voice of a three-year old.

I opened the screens, then shut them, then opened them again. I felt like Annette Benning in American Beauty, except I wasn't crying or slapping myself in the face.

Then, reality hit: I had no furniture, and I was very hungry and completely alone.

I left the apartment building and bought a "cup of noodles" at a dingy convenience store. Then I brought it home and realized I had no pot to boil water. I filled the cup with warm tap water, let it sit for three minutes, and then ate the limp, salty, crunchy noodles. Then I read the ingredients (always a risk) and felt bad about myself and the life choices I make.

I made a bed with a mattress pad and a comforter, and laid clothes on the ground next to it, so that my arms wouldn't touch the hardwood floor. The floor was sticky. A moth with a gigantic body flew into my lamp and danced around fluttering in my face. "Blahhk," I whined. "EAHHehh."

Outside, I could hear someone singing opera, and a man yelling "fuck you asshole!"

Even though I've lived in the city for 18 years, I've never felt so much a part of it.

"This is my home now," I thought to myself. "Those are my neighbors and this is my home."

I fell asleep, then woke up because my back hurt and drove to my parent's house where I fell asleep again in my mother's bed (she had gone to work) and woke up about 1 hour ago. Now I'm just confused about my life.