Illusions of Grandeur January 20, 2004 - 5:08 p.m.

Becky got an apartment that was oddly right down the street from her existing residence. Still on the same street, yet the street isn't very long. Makes the whole moving process much easier.

So I went to her house last night and helped her pack things and move boxes downstairs by the front door, ready to be loaded and sent a hundred yards away. Being pregnant and ready to burst - already having contractions - she can't lift or move much on her own. I helped move the smaller stuff around and she's going to have her exes - yeah, plural - help with the actual move.

Her exes; that's a whole Jerry Springer story of its own.

The apartment isn't too bad. $425 a month, two bedroom, includes water and heat. She gets free cable and will only have to pay for phone and personal electric. The kitchen is tiny and pathetic, as well as scary. One short counter and teal cabinets with striped walls. She's already been given the okay to repaint. But with just her and the baby, it's adequate. Each room has a nice sized closet, the bathroom has a linen closet, and there's a hall closet that's normal sized. Plus, she has a huge utility room for extra storage and could possibly get washer/dryer hookup put in. I'm not used to seeing apartments of this size offer so much storage space. There are other little things that seem ghetto, but it's hard to pinpoint exactly what. Maybe the lack of curtains? Or repairs needed in the bathroom? Which are being fixed today, as well as the carpet getting cleaned. Or maybe it just needs a good cleaning and, well, furniture.

When looking around, you kind of have this feeling that the place was built by one person. Like someone said 'I can build a house, why not?' And while he didn't do a bad job, it still has that unprofessional feel to it. But I think with furniture and inhabitants, it won't give off that feeling so much. Also, it's perfect for her and a baby. It's even on the ground floor. I think most single mothers have to settle for places much smaller than this one.

So she's taken care of her living arrangements, now she has to worry about restocking a new place. Toiletries, food, kitchenware, curtains, both window and shower, and furniture. Luckily, a few people are offering to let her at least borrow a good amount of furniture. That will help immensely.

Every time I know someone that moves into a new place, I get jealous. Especially if I see the place before they actually move in. I can't help but walk around and picture myself living there, and how I'd set things up and how it would look and feel. Making it my own. Buying new furniture, dishes, accessories... right down to the towels and rugs. How it would feel to come home at the end of the day and walk into a place that's all my own. I'm sure that feeling would quickly wear off, but that initial experience seems too nice to forget.

There was a house maybe three blocks away from my mom's and it sat empty for the longest time. Something about it was different from the other houses around it, and not just that the exterior was all wood instead of siding or brick. There was also something about the shape and design of it. Something that made it stand out to me, and I'd ask my mom to drive down a different street all the time, just so we could pass it.

It was a simple house. Nothing big or fancy. It had a porch that ran across the entire front, a garage, a privacy fence, and a second floor. The way the yard sloped and how the deck was elevated in the backyard, you could see that it had a basement as well. A basement that probably had a sliding glass door leading out to the yard.

I always thought of that house and how maybe there'd be some way for us to get some money and buy it, and I could live there and grow up and be responsible and happy. And I could get Romeo and Twink out of that crappy house and into this new one, where I would have pet beds and toys, just for them. And I would always imagine how the layout might be in this house. I always pictured a family room when you first walk in which extended into a kitchen, the only divider being a counter with stools, with french doors beside the counters on the far wall leading onto the deck. A pantry on the righthand wall. Next to it, a door leading into the garage. When first walking in, there were stairs to the right, leading upstairs that had at least three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Four bedrooms, if some were smaller. On the left after first walking in, between the family room and kitchen, there was an open doorway that lead to a small room that could be like an office and the start of the stairs leading to the basement. The basement was standard fare basement complete with washer and dryer and a room to set up a nice home theater system.

I had it in my head that there were all these repairs that needed to be done and I was going to do them myself, provided the proper guidance would help. And I would be able to paint the walls and buy new furniture and decorate and arrange and rearrange until my heart was content. I even thought I would get all energy efficient appliances, like a tankless water heater, as well as 5 year light bulbs and replace the existing insulation with the new groovy liquid foam stuff.

So yeah, needless to say, I have really in-depth visions or fantasies about this kind of crap.

I was heartbroken one day when we drove by and there were cars in the driveway and people looking at my house. By the next day, any signs that were on the house or in the front yard had been taken down. Within a week, the exterior had been painted a cream colour instead of leaving it the natural wood stain and they even spilled the paint on the roof covering the garage and front porch. I couldn't help but think 'They ruined it'.

Now, when we go by that house, I look at it with contempt and sadness. Contempt for the people that stole my house then destroyed it. And sadness for the house itself because it was raped.

.: Googles .: Registered! .: For Sale .: My Store

Design :. Picture :. Trading Card :. Host :.