Maybe you’ve gone through family photographs recently. Maybe you’ve found you were an adorable child, dressing and smiling with the sweetness that comes from being taken care of down to every detail. Your hair is clean and your socks match or maybe not. Maybe you were the kind of child left to your own devices, the child who was allowed to figure yourself out; you were allowed to dress yourself, which meant wearing your snow boots everyday of 1993, rain or shine, if that’s how you felt about it. I was allowed to wear my boots, and believe me, they were nice boots.
I still relish every chance I get to test out who I’d like to be. My apartment proves over and over a platform for self-discovery, much like that of dressing for kindergarten. Snow boots and a “Little Mermaid” t-shirt, every day.
Nearly every time I sit down to write a column, my love for my apartment sneaks in. Either invited or not I cannot help bragging about my rented rooms. It is because, among other things, my apartment is an opportunity to test out all my theories. Discover &-&- in more or less of a vacuum &-&- the kind of life I’d like to reach for.I have room to find if I’m naturally clean or if I have to force myself to sweep up the generous floor space. Like any other college student, though there is a facility to do laundry just downstairs, I have found it’s not always a priority but that I like clean sheets, even if my mother or camp counselors aren’t double checking.
I like to host, also, which is a bit of a surprise. My apartment, no sign-in required, makes having guests easy. Welcoming not just people I would normally make an effort to see &-&- close friends and family &-&- but also friends of friends and family of friends.
I can also appreciate a quieter home. The kitchen is still my favorite room and I am pleased to discover I am an eater of carrot sticks and a baker pastry in addition to a veteran procurer of carry out.
These habits may be just a phase; my priorities might change over, since I am aware that college students have entertained some pretty outlandish habits over the years. My parents tell of a group house in which the committed hippie residents knit clothing from the fur of their pets in an attempt to really make use of all the household resources. But buying cut flowers is a far less radical step and perhaps easier to maintain.
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