Did I mention I have an apartment?
Well, I do. I don’t live in it at the moment. In fact, the arrangement is a bit of an odd one.
I’m returning to Undisclosed University in the fall as a graduate student pursuing a masters degree in professional gypsying. Just kidding. I’m getting a degree in English, which is the next best thing.
In the past, UU grad students have had a whole dorm to themselves. Graduate students on the girls’ side of campus had this massive abbey of a building that seemed to stand taller than the undergrad dorms. It’s nestled far, far away from the rest of campus—almost further than my own dormitory, which required hiking boots, and compass, and a map to locate. I anticipated that I’d be moving from one dorm to another—into the big dorm with the big girls who know the value of silence and respecting people’s space, where I’d be free from fifty-minute bells and having to be back by 10:30.
The thing is, they’re tearing the old thing down this year. So no special housing for the grads. No, instead we’d be assigned our own hall in one of the undergrad dorms—back with the bells every fifty minutes and the constant hustle-bustle and unending screaming. On the same hall that I just left. The same hall I’ve lived on for four. Long. Years.
But they opened up apartments in the small apartment building across from campus. Hope kindled in my heart that was quickly dashed when I learned that second-year grad students would be getting preference so my only hope would be to win the love of a roommate-less older grad. No luck there.
But hope returned when I heard there’d be a little bit of housing in the university’s apartment complex located several blocks from school. I and my prospective roommate quickly applied and to our immense surprise and delight, we are now renting a multi-room apartment for the cost of normal room and board.
Come July, I’ll be blogging from my own flat. The adventures continue in a new venue with new things to laugh about. Like the family with a wailing baby that lives right across the hall. Or the rail-less stairs. Or the delight of new carpet smell instead of the dorm reek I’m so accustomed to. Or figuring out how to make a tiny space look and feel bigger—and loving the challenge. Or the strange ecstasy that comes from arranging a color scheme for the bathroom. Or figuring out where to put all the books I’ve adopted. Or whatever my upstairs neighbors decide to do late at night when I’m trying to sleep and they’re trying to party.
Stay tuned for the further adventures of Risabella Rambler, Apartment Dweller.