The company from whom I lease my apartment has been showing my apartment like motherfuckers.  Usually they are very good about it, in that they give me a day’s notice.  Lately, they’ve been really slipping.

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Exhibit A:  Walking into my apartment without knocking, while I was sleeping.  For those of you who don’t have a studio apartment, this is equivalent to a group of strangers walking into your bedroom.

Exhibit B: Not notifying me of two showings in one hour.  I answered the door in my robe and a cup of coffee, like, “Huh?!” To make matters worse, the guy looking at my apartment had just been in Best Buy the day before, and had ridiculed me for not carrying some obsure indie band. Fuck that guy.

Exhibit C: [And this one is really priceless] NOT CALLING at all, and knocking on my door on a Friday morning after I had been writing and crying and drinking all night (very Bohemian, I realize).  I was in such a daze that I answered the door, clad only in – I shit you not –  a chennille throw blanket.  Luckily, both the leaser/potential leasee were female.  I was so pissed when I answered the door (I had only been asleep for about two hours), the poor girl tip-toed around my apartment for a mere two seconds more quickly bowing out.

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It’s almost like they KNOW when I work overnights at the station, and schedule showings for the morning after, when I’m sleeping.  I am so sick of this that I am tempted to start showcasing the apartment in a really perky way, just so someone will lease the damn thing.

And that’s sad, because I’m not attached to the place at all.  I lived in the Varsity Villas for two years, and even though it is one of the shadiest complexes in all of Indiana (also the most fun), I was really emotional when I moved out.  Even moving out of that little yellow house on Indiana Ave. was really sad.  When you have roommates that you absolutely love, you tie your living space with all these fond memories.

The apartment I live in now is in a house that was built in the late 1800s.  I always wonder who lived here first — I’d imagine a rather wealthy family, with it being so close to downtown. It’s in this historic part of town called “The Near West Side Neighborhood,” which apparently was the first of its kind to welcome diverse familes into the area, way back when.
And with a hundred plus years gone by comes the quirky character of my little studio apartment.   But I find that I’m not really attached to it.  I never had the time or money to fix it how I really wanted it, and I’m only there to eat, sleep, and watch Scrubs.

So I started sorta-kinda looking for a new apartment. I’m really apprehensive, I guess.  My lease isn’t up until August, and who knows what I’m going to be doing then.  What if [BY SOME GRACE OF GOD] I get a job?  [Yeah, did you laugh at that, too?]