Digs
I’m in the 25th apartment I’ve ever lived in, and I’m 25 years old as of a few days ago. You can tell I don’t get too attached to places. Someone told me I should write to the future self to remind him how the place was when I found it, and let him know the difference he made.
I’m in love with the location, the studenty vibe of the neighbourhood, the century-old house on a tree-lined street (it’s so cute when Toronto pretends to have a history), the Kensington, the biking, the continuity. There’s a sort of a tradition attached to this place, of passing on a bit of your life to make someone else’s life easier. A fixer-upper can be pretty awesome when someone has already fixed ‘er up. A dishwasher is a genius invention, a washer and dryer are double genius.
I’m less than a fan of the kitchen sink, the mini-flood from last week, and the lighting arrangements, but those are the kind of things that an enterprising young individual can deal with on an enterprising young individual basis.
I’m kind of ambivalent about the quasi-legality of the arrangement, which, on one hand, makes me slightly nervous, but, on the other, holy crap, you couldn’t rent a parking spot for this much.
What do these things have in common:
A drill
Buckwheat
Enough umbrellas to stage “Singing in the Rain”
A video card
An enormous box of spices
Every screwdriver ever invented
TTC buttons
Three extension cords
