My Shabby Digs

I've been thinking a lot about my apartment today, mostly because it's the third anniversary of moving in after spending close to a year living out of a hotel room. The joy that comes from not having to wash dishes in the bathtub, not living at your place of work, and being able to roam around naked through a space without roommates being offended or other hotel guests giving funny looks is a pretty great feeling, and the day I finally moved all my stuff into my little brick apartment sticks to my memory pretty dearly.

I think my place is still pretty nice, even if every piece of furniture came from yard sales, alleyways, or dumpsters, and even if the decor ranges from Ansel Adams prints to a black velvet portrait of cats playing poker. I believe I've managed to make the eclectic jumble of top-pick thrift store crap into something functional, comfortable, and aesthetically acceptable, and if nothing else I've managed to keep the stuff in my apartment cheap and easy enough to replace. Literally dozens of dollars were spent on making my place as charming as it is, and part of me is proud of that (that part, of course, is my wallet).

I have been considering going to an IKEA or some similar place to update my digs, but that'd require money.

And effort.

And forethought.

And, y'know, nah.

Though, it would be nice to get some new pictures on the wall and at least some of the furniture reupholstered. Maybe one day I'll get some "mid-century modern" crap from Etsy to add some continuity to the other old crap on the walls. Now that I've lived there for a few weeks (like, 156 of them) I feel comfortable enough to possibly get some updated stuff.

Hell, even if I don't, I can still say I've managed to pay my rent consistently, so I'm proud of myself for that.