HAIRSHIRT
Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
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HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
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Friday, February 01, 2008Home Sweet Harlem
Walking home from the train stop the other day and I realized something. In May, we'll have lived here--in this apartment--for six years. That's the goddamn longest I've lived anyplace since I was thirteen. And, if we live here for another year, I'll have lived here longer than I've lived anyplace my entire fucking life. That's just such a weird notion.
In college, of course, you're moving all the time. You can't live in the dorms year-round and you're an utterly spastic freak if you'd want to. When you're living off-campus, you're usually not in the most stable living arrangements. Sometimes you're only there for nine months and then leave in the summer. Sometimes you get sick of your roommates and run the fuck away. Other times the place in which you're living is rightfully condemned and you're forced to find other accommodations. Then, post-university, you're figuring shit out. You move to a new city. It sucks, so you move someplace else. You move in with someone. In some cases, you split up and move out. In my case, you move with that person to a less roach-infested place with an attic in which you'll accumulate an awe-inspiring amount of crap in four years' time before the place catches on fire. But, as you get older, moving becomes a bigger and bigger hassle. You've got more and nicer stuff. You don't have the same circle of young pothead friends who'll help you move in exchange for pizza and bonghits. And you're just too goddamn lazy to do it. Now, when I say "you" throughout all this, I mostly mean "me." I'm certain there are 37-year-olds out there who change abodes like I change underwear. (That would be fortnightly, by the by.) But that's not me. My wife and I have, over the last couple of years, discussed the fact that, when we have a kid, we're going to have to start looking for something larger. (Wanna guess what a two-bedroom place in New York costs? Do ya?) Sadly, infertility has meant that we haven't had to try. Trust me, we'd both love to have that particular reason to rent a U-Haul. Anyway, thinking about our time here in Harlem, all I can really say is that it's fucking flown by. It's like that song from Fiddler on the Roof. What's it called? Oh, right, "To Life". Wait, that's not it.
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