Yesterday I celebrated my one year anniversary of living in my apartment. It was a joyous occasion of independence and growing up. I celebrated this momentous occasion in the best way possible. I did adult-like things that evening and did them all by myself. (Wow, that was not meant to sound so dirty.)
Actually, I spent very little time in my apartment yesterday, but then again, the day I moved in a year earlier, I don’t think I spent very much time in my new place either. Last night as I came home later than usual (after dinner with my brother and a friend and shopping nearby). My “celebration” wasn’t very thrilling. I did my laundry and reminisced about the time I got locked in the laundry room. I did other responsible things like pay bills and balance my checkbook. Oh, the thrilling life of a wannabe adult.
Honestly, it sure doesn’t feel like I have been living in my place for so long. It’s the longest I’ve lived in a place that isn’t also occupied with my family for a continuous amount of time. (I lived in the same room my first two years of college, but that doesn’t count, since I had to move my stuff out between years.) Frankly, it hasn’t really seemed like I’ve lived in my apartment for a year. Why, it seems like only yesterday I was having my apartment-warming party. (Actually, a good friend of mine recently made her Facebook profile picture a picture of her from that party.) Time passes by surprisingly fast and already I’m experiencing the second roommate change at my place. I don’t really know why it surprises me that I’ve stayed in the same place for a year. Maybe it’s just that for once I’m experiencing some consistency in my life post-college that I’m ok. with.
CAPSLove 