So...it's been months, yet my love affair with Ray LaMontagne has STILL not ended.
I am surrounded by piles. Piles of books, piles of pillows, piles of boxes. Each day, I scatter a pile and spend anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour just staring at the bits and pieces of the pile that are now scattered around me. I am taking absolutely forever to make this place my own, but there is a very specific purpose to it. This whole place is mine...like when I would put a sheet over a table and everything underneath would be my kingdom...well, that's how this is. This apartment is my playhouse and I am doing each activity with the deliberateness of a five year old. I need more bookshelves. I have books on my mantle (yes...I have a mantle. Two mantles, actually!) and on my shelves and in corners. I feel something like a cat lady, but without a cat.
When my apartment is complete, I will take photographs to document this. I just started living here but I am already filled with dread to think that one day I'll have to leave this house. Also, the floors are uneven. When I walk to the kitchen at night, I walk up and down the little hills in the hallway that the floorboards have created and I almost weep with happiness thinking that maybe some sort of rebel debutante-turned-flapper once lived here (the house was built in 1920) and I stare out the window at other houses, some peeling, some restored with crisp paint and young plants in the yard.
I am pretty alone, so far. Not in a bad way. But my dad and I were talking on the phone last night (War and Peace with Audrey H. was on pause on my television) and he said that it just occured to him that this is probably the most alone I've been in my entire life. And it is. I sleep alone and I wake up alone. I eat breakfast and dinner alone. But I love it. I like it. I wash dishes alone and sometimes my voice is croaky because I haven't spoken with anyone for hours.
Surprisingly, I haven't done anything overtly weird yet, except watch TV naked. I always assumed that the second I started living alone, I'd start picking up strange habits, like smoking cigarettes in the bathtub or having extended conversations with the cat that sleeps on my steps. I hope these weird habits begin soon. I greatly anticipate what they may be.
Soundtracks for parts of my life:
Music for Loving Desperately:
Feist--How My Heart Behaves
Ray LaMontagne--Hold You in My Arms
Radiohead--Thinking About You
Inara George--Mistress
The Police--Wrapped Around Your Finger
Kings of Convenience--Singing Softly to Me
Jeff Buckley--Hallelujah
Music for Dancing and Having So Much Fun:
Feist-- Tout Doucement
Antonio Carlos Jobim-- Agua de Beber
Bat for Lashes-- Trophy
Camille--Ta Douleur
Music for Taking Your Clothes Off:
Nina Simone--Feeling Good (or Michael Buble's version, or Muse's version...depending on your preference)
Creedence Clearwater Revival--I Put a Spell On You (or Nina Simone's version)
Fink--Pretty Little Thing
Peggy Lee--Hey Big Spender
Sarah Vaughn--Whatever Lola Wants
What am I going to do this evening? What pile am I going to deconstruct?
When my apartment is complete, I will take photographs to document this. I just started living here but I am already filled with dread to think that one day I'll have to leave this house. Also, the floors are uneven. When I walk to the kitchen at night, I walk up and down the little hills in the hallway that the floorboards have created and I almost weep with happiness thinking that maybe some sort of rebel debutante-turned-flapper once lived here (the house was built in 1920) and I stare out the window at other houses, some peeling, some restored with crisp paint and young plants in the yard.
I am pretty alone, so far. Not in a bad way. But my dad and I were talking on the phone last night (War and Peace with Audrey H. was on pause on my television) and he said that it just occured to him that this is probably the most alone I've been in my entire life. And it is. I sleep alone and I wake up alone. I eat breakfast and dinner alone. But I love it. I like it. I wash dishes alone and sometimes my voice is croaky because I haven't spoken with anyone for hours.
Surprisingly, I haven't done anything overtly weird yet, except watch TV naked. I always assumed that the second I started living alone, I'd start picking up strange habits, like smoking cigarettes in the bathtub or having extended conversations with the cat that sleeps on my steps. I hope these weird habits begin soon. I greatly anticipate what they may be.
Soundtracks for parts of my life:
Music for Loving Desperately:
Feist--How My Heart Behaves
Ray LaMontagne--Hold You in My Arms
Radiohead--Thinking About You
Inara George--Mistress
The Police--Wrapped Around Your Finger
Kings of Convenience--Singing Softly to Me
Jeff Buckley--Hallelujah
Music for Dancing and Having So Much Fun:
Feist-- Tout Doucement
Antonio Carlos Jobim-- Agua de Beber
Bat for Lashes-- Trophy
Camille--Ta Douleur
Music for Taking Your Clothes Off:
Nina Simone--Feeling Good (or Michael Buble's version, or Muse's version...depending on your preference)
Creedence Clearwater Revival--I Put a Spell On You (or Nina Simone's version)
Fink--Pretty Little Thing
Peggy Lee--Hey Big Spender
Sarah Vaughn--Whatever Lola Wants
What am I going to do this evening? What pile am I going to deconstruct?