I think that one of the reasons I have not gone absolutely insane from seven months of isolation is that I love my apartment. I live in a quaint neighborhood in Old East Dallas. It’s close to downtown, but removed enough to feel secluded. It’s also right by White Rock Lake, which is a plus. I don’t live in an apartment complex; I tend to not like their clinical uniformity and lack of character. The building I live in has nine units spread across two floors and is nestled in between two single homes where actual families reside in (crazy, right?). I feel like an intruder in this otherwise suburban, family-oriented community. But it’s a comforting quality, very reminiscent of the neighborhood I grew up in back in Maryland. It feels familiar.
I tend to luck out with living arrangements and I am not complaining. The day before my flight to start my senior year of college, I got an email from the school saying the dorm I was scheduled to live had been condemned due to a black mold infestation (never mind that I had lived in that same building all through junior year). A few hours of scramble and panic made way for disbelief as the school had arranged for the displaced students to take residence in an upscale hotel directly across the street from campus. I struggle even now to describe how unbelievably incredible the setup was. Individual rooms, king-size bed, free laundry service, pool access… The situation never ceased to be surreal, especially in moments where I, say, forget my homework and tell myself, “I’ll just stop by my hotel room.”
After a few months, not only had my luck sufficiently run out, but I was at a deficit - and it was time to pay. Toward the end of the semester, we were all kicked out of the hotel and back onto campus. I got assigned a single room (good!) in the oldest dorm on campus (not good!). I traded my sleek and swanky suite for stained carpets, community bathrooms, and a room the size of a walk-in closet (this is not an exaggeration). Also the whole building had a weird smell. It was extra salt on the wound that I could see the hotel through my single window and dream of better times. But that was all temporary. At the start of the next semester, I swapped to an adjacent residential hall that was much more accommodating. It was a single, significantly more spacious room on the top floor. It was also a corner room, so I got extra windows. And there was also a kitchenette! Man, I miss that place…
This is all a roundabout way to get back to the original point and once again say that I love my apartment. I lucked out that my unit is on the second floor and at the end of the building. I get extra windows and more natural light; I face away from the street for some extra privacy; and the elevated position and surrounding vegetation gives the impression that I’m living in a tree house. And of course, there’s the abundant fauna I see every day. How does that strike you, that I find a squirrel scrambling up a tree a delightful sight? Is it harmless, childish, pathetic? Possibly all three? Does it seem like I’m losing it?
I’ve effectively Stockholm syndromed myself. I’m a captive of my own making. Let’s just hope I still think well of myself when this is all through.