I just have to say that I hate living in an apartment sometimes.
It’s ten in the morning, and our upstairs neighbors are fighting again. Kids—and adults—are screaming, doors slamming and lots of banging on the floor. They do this every couple weeks, usually around 4 in the morning, waking me up. I hate having upstairs neighbors.
Times like this I really miss my house. Yes, I had to deal with rats in the attic, and trees falling and doing damage, and leaky roof troubles, but we had a measure of autonomy that you give up when you live in an apartment building.
When we had a house, we could let Siggy run in the backyard rather than having to leash-walk him three times a day. He enjoyed it much more, and so did we.
We had a patio for a grill and outdoor furniture, and when the bugs weren’t too bad I could sit outside and enjoy the sun.
We owned the place, so we could paint the walls any color we wanted, and could take care of repair issues ourselves without having to wait on the landlord. (We recently had a mold problem on our outside interior walls, and although we killed the mold with cleanser, we have to wait another week for the landlord to come by and “have a look.” Whatever that means. In the meantime my allergies are acting up like crazy.)
I never worried about stuff getting pulled out of my mailbox, or whether neighbors had my delivered packages.
I didn’t have to navigate my way past a half-dozen baby strollers clogging the foyer as I tried to carry groceries up four flights of stairs.
I didn’t have neighbors bitching about a little dog hair in the stairwell—when the kids in the building leave trash, gum, and food all over the place. Siggy got hold of something on the stairs a few months ago before I could stop him, and while it didn’t cause any harm, it could have!
I didn’t have long black hairs getting tangled in my kitchen windowbox herbs from the apartment upstairs and finding them as I cook (YUCK!).
I haven’t hated an apartment this badly since the cheap-ass one in Gray I lived in when Shawn and I first separated. That one was tiny, with bugs, no laundry, and an AC unit that froze, leaked, and ruined the carpet. But at least it had a back patio.
The townhouse in Ohio was a totally different story. It was worth living in. Only one shared wall with a quiet neighbor, a good neighborhood where Sheridan had friends and could play outside in the grass, and a great landlord who took care of problems quickly and professionally.
Maybe we should find a new place to live. There’s a difference between inexpensive and cheap. And this place is definitely cheap. I feel like we’re living in the Nürnberg slums sometimes.
Well, that’s the end of my rant. I know we could be living in a lot worse places. This apartment is large enough, fairly comfortable, and conveniently located. And at a decent price.
But it doesn’t hurt to look around for another one!