The Little Apartment

It is tiny. It's not much bigger than the bedroom I live in now, except it has a (miniscule) kitchen and bathroom attached. The bathroom isn't too bad, but the kitchen is so small I wouldn't be able to have the oven and the refrigerator open at the same time. Not that I would need to.

The good news:

a) It's private and mine, fuckers.
b) It's not going to cost much each month.
c) It won't cost much to heat.
d) There is a pantry and attic space.
e) It's in a little secluded neighborhood.
f) It is across the street from a grocery (sort of).
g) The landlord recognized me and seemed happy.
h) I will pretend I'm on a writer's retreat.

The bad news:

a) I just realized there is no closet.
b) The kitchen might be too small for a toaster and microwave. Or a microwave and coffee pot.
c) There will be nothing between me sleeping and and someone busting down my door.
d) There is no room for a couch.
e) There is no room for a table.

I don't care about all of those bad things. It will be an improvement over my life as it is. Today, when I came home from visiting the apartment complex, my nephew asked my mother to pay his girlfriend back the $25 we overused with her food stamps. Let me make this clear: she didn't pay us any money out of her paycheck because she doesn't think it's fair that if she doesn't eat much of our food that she should have to pay us any money. I explained to her that if she had her own apartment, she wouldn't be eating her landlord's food but she would still have to pay her landlord rent, and so in this scenario we are the effing landlords. She pretended to agree then refused to pay on her next paycheck. So we overused her food stamps. Sorry, bitch.

I shopped online for portable closets. If I get this studio apartment, I will just buy one of the sturdy little closets I saw and weave it into the narrative.