A while back, I did a post about the things I looked forward to when it comes time to leave my apartment and go get a place–a house–of my own after graduation.
Today, as I shivered like crazy in my lukewarm shower, I longed for HOT WATER.
Even if you just turn on the hot water full blast, and don’t even touch the cold water knob, you get passably hot water. It’s shower-temperature (never, like, clean the dishes hot. Ever). But it’s enough to be comfortable in the shower.
Well, my new neighbor this year showers at the same time I do, by coincidence. And I’m not angry at her, obviously, because I’m sure she suffers the same shivery showers that I do. But the minute either of my two neighbors turns on their water, my “hot” water goes from passably hot to lukewarm and shiver-inducing.
Plus, in my apartment, which is surrounded on two sides by uninsulated cement walls, it is frickin’ cold. It’s not even dead winter yet, and it’s COLD. So when the shower water goes lukewarm? The cold air from the apartment comes wafting into the shower, and let’s just say, it’s a wonder I don’t get sick more often than I do.
And as to the apartment temperature… it costs as much to heat my little one-bedroom apartment as it costs to heat an entire house. I’m not kidding. The uninsulated cement walls just suck the heat right out and push (and hold) the cold in. My typical inter-apartment attire? A t-shirt, layered with a sweatshirt, layered with a fleece blanket wrapped around me.
And it’s only November.
I know, I know, as Mums would say, this will help me appreciate a nice, warm, insulated house, with a hot water heater that actually produces hot water, and that I don’t have to share with neighbors… but I am getting increasingly anxious to have that. I’m just… I’m so tired of being cold in here, and of paying $250+ per month to keep the apartment temperature at something resembling livable… I’m so tired of showering in lukewarm water and instead of enjoying the morning shower, hoping that each one somehow won’t result in, like, the flu or a cold.
I long for my own trash can. I’m so sick of having to touch slimy dumpsters every time I want to take my trash out. It’s so gross. And so smelly. Ugh.
I long for a house with some property around it, so that my “yard” area (i.e., the street and sidewalk below) won’t be populated ALL THE TIME with teenybopper skater kids who NEVER seem to have to be in school, who NEVER go home, who stay out until 3:00 a.m. every night, who are ALWAYS loud and screamy and shouty and tossing their skateboard around as if they’ve run out of other ways to make noise… and I’m so sick of the police doing nothing about that when I call.
I’m sick of a toilet that doesn’t flush. I’m sick of pursuing my landlord to pursue the plumbers to fix the damn toilet. The sewer gas smell has disappeared as of late, which is wonderful, and I hope it stays gone. I’d rather have a non-flushing toilet than sewer gas smell, but ideally? I’d like to have no sewer gas AND a toilet that flushes. I’m spoiled like that, I guess.
And I’m sick of having a hallway that smells like trash. Yes, through the process of elimination I’m assuming we can figure out where that’s coming from. But god almighty, I cannot wait until the day comes when I live in my own place, and won’t have to deal “mysterious” odors of unknown origin.
How on earth do people live in apartments through their entire adult lives? I know there are folks out there who do, but jeebus, how? I daily think, “I am too old for this… the amusement in this kind of living died with dorm life…” Hot water. Covered parking (maybe even a real garage). Trash pick up. Recycling. Flushing toilets. Insulated walls. Private property that gives me the right to tell teenybopper skaters to get the hell lost. Storage space. Closet space.
Oh, I long for it.
But for now I’m off to class. It’s already friggin’ shivery in this apartment. At least it will be a bit warmer at school. Ugh.
–M
Labels: all about me, anecdotes and opinions
I’m Marissa, can-do-ologist, perpetual Curious George, and daily adventurer. 
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I remember this place I once had in Boston. I had to stuff my bedroom floor with paper bags because there was this giant hole in it and I could see the grass and dirt underneath the house. I was always kind of worried that I would get some sort of rabid squirrel in my bedroom or something. I paid $700 a month to live there WITH A ROOMMATE. Gah!!! Everyplace I’ve stayed in Valpo has been pure luxury compared to that dump.