I am really terrible at following up on promises that I make to this blog, such as posting photos of the fantabulous birthday dinners that I cook for Number 2. So, today I am going to write about something completely senseless and random. Okay, here it is. Let’s call it a memoir:

When I was 20 and I had just moved into my first apartment on my own in the city (Victoria), I was in love with the idea with having my own space. I spent hours decorating my own perfect space, which I now realize was pretty run-down, but what are you gonna do on a barista’s budget?It was a bachelor (studio) apartment in a cruddy part of town in a sketchy building, and my neighbours were terrifying, but for some reason I felt totally at peace there – just because I felt like I was starting my own life – a young single girl in the city (okay, Victoria’s not much of a city, but it was better than Duncan).
Anyway, I went to chinatown and got these little lanterns that I hung all over the place, and I turned my ugly bunkbed thing into a boudoir hung with the finest tapestries (old blankets). I bought scented candles and put a chair on my little balcony where I would smoke and look wistfully at the moon. I got plants and had my two identical cats (who were later given away in favour of an allergic boyfriend). One thing that I really remember now is how sometimes at night, when I would be going to bed, I would feel a little lonely so I would turn on my little clock radio, and I discovered this CBC station that played old-timey music in french (like, from the 20s), and because the speakers were really low-quality in the clock radio, it sounded really tinney and scratchey, so it sounded like it was playing from one of those old gramophones. I totally loved it, and only thought about it recently and how I missed doing that. I couldn’t now because I live with someone and it would be totally embarrassing.
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Categories: Ramblings

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