Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Any discussion of my apartment must begin with the introduction of Delia, my neighbors cat. She often meets me on the path as I walk towards my front door and meows demandingly for attention. She flops herself down in front of me, receives a few pets, and then, if I walk on, sprints ahead of me and flops herself down again, demanding more pets. I call her The Friendliest Cat in the World.
To the right of my door is a wooden fence. Lodged in the overlapping slats at the top of the door is my key, not hidden, but in plain view. I dont worry about my apartment being broken into because I dont have anything I would miss that much if stolen. I like the feeling of not having to lock the world out.
The door opens into the apartment, which is really just one room with a loft. I like the room because the ceiling is high but the overall square footage is low. I used to live in a big house all by myself and I became frustrated that I had to acquire so much stuff just to make it seem comfortably lived-in. I had to put so many duplicates of itemspens, pencils, paper, water pitchers, glasses, earplugseverywhere around the house just in case I suddenly needed them. In this apartment, I need only one each of those items. I am happier in a smaller space.
When I moved in to my apartment I hired a decorator to furnish the place, so the furniture is pretty nice. In those days, I hired professionals to take care of nearly every aspect of my life, from wardrobe to record production. I hired a stylist to buy fifteen-thousand dollars worth of designer clothes for me, ten full outfits including everything from underwear and socks to jackets and ties. I numbered every item appropriately from 1 to 10 so that I didnt accidentally wear the belt for outfit number 3 with the trousers for outfit number 7. There is no good reason why ten pairs of underwear need to be numbered. They are all the same. But I had to have things ordered and controlled, I suppose. Now the clothes hang idle across from the bathroom in my wardrobe closet. I wear a simple wardrobe of Dickies and button-downs instead.
Further ahead is a piano. It has a function whereby one can turn off the acoustic sound of the piano and listen only to a digital sound, the volume of which can be adjusted. This is how I play and listen to it. It sounds great. It has a very deep, full sound, but very quiet when I want it to be. Ive had a great time with this piano over the months, spending many hours over-dramatically improvising a la Yanniat a volume which my neighbor cant hear. I am extremely shy when I improvise. Self-consciousness is my worst enemy. That is one of the reasons I have enjoyed this apartment: When I have been here, by myself, I have been able to forget myself. I just become whatever it is I am doing.
Ahead to the left is the bathroomsmall, but nice. Actually, everything in the apartment is small but nice. That is the main reason I settled on this place immediately when I first saw it. I wonder if that is how people think of me: Small, but nice. I have heard that a persons choice of car is supposed to indicate his or her personality type. If so, what does that say about my personality? I dont have a car.
At the very back of the apartment is a tiny kitchen. Everything in it seems to be tinya tiny stove, a tiny fridge, a tiny countertop. Again, though, everything is nice. I am glad, too, because now I am actually cooking. Sandwiches, oatmeal and rice may not seem like cooking to most people, but for me this is a huge step. Most of my adult life I have either eaten out, employed a cook, or subsisted on cold cereal and ramen. Now I actually enjoy cutting vegetables and making sauces. Motivation comes less easily because I am cooking only for myself, but I make due, and to be honest, I might be afraid to cook for someone else. There are so many frightening things about the thought of living with someone else, in a relationship-type setting. After being on my own for so long, having someone else around all the time might feel weird.
Next to the wardrobe closet is a miniature spiral staircase that leads up to the loft, my bedroom. Sometimes when I am lying in bed, I can hear creatures, probably squirrels, running around on the top of the roof, violently attacking each other. They sound so large and angry from just under the ceiling where my ears are. One time, in the middle of the night, Delia came up to my little window and meowed demandingly, waking me up. She wanted help getting into my neighbors house. I stumbled down the spiral staircase to the back door to help, a huge smile on my face. Shes so cute.
Now I must say goodbye to Delia and to this apartment which has served me so well over these months. Im moving from here in L.A. to Boston tomorrow. I dont know if Im coming back, or staying in Boston, or passing away suddenly in the night. My future is wide open. I am happy, therefore, to have had this opportunity to acknowledge my apartment for sharing these months with me. May it bring as much joy to the succeeding tenants as it has to me until the day it, too, passes away.
Source: His MySpace blog