There's No Place

In the month or two that I've been so carelessly absent here, my living situation has been decidedly... undecided.

The roommate with whom I signed a 14-month lease expressed interest in moving out back in May (lease ends October 19) and followed through on her whim to bail in June, leaving me with our ideal 2/2 apartment and double rent. Coincidentally, a friend fresh out of A&M thought he might take the spare room but has yet to find a job, so that fell through. I had plans of subletting a friend's apartment when he leaves for school in September and thought I would just tough out the double rent until then. That plan went ka-put as well, and probably for the better.

I made the solid decision last week to re-sign the lease on my own. Yes, that is just how much I love this apartment, the location, the people... Vaulted ceilings, spacious layout, washer/dryer connections, colorful accent walls painted by yours truly, all this tucked away in Austin's Greenbelt with a beautiful wooded view from my 3rd floor balcony. It takes me approximately 3.5 minutes to get to work and 10 to get to the theater downtown, and I have absolutely won the neighbor lottery and can't bring myself to give that up. So the apartment is mine-all-mine through May 2010, and I now have a delightful new roommate moving in and bringing with her a furry playmate for Carmen.

While I am sure of my decision to re-sign and absolutely happy with the new additions to the household, I have other ideas of what I want for myself in the future.

The idea of home and community is very important to me. For the first 18 years of my life my entire family (5 generations!) lived within a ten-minute drive of each other. I spent the majority of my time with my maternal grandparents who split their time between two homes, both of which oozed small-town life, southern family roots, love and fun.

From 2006 to 2008, I found myself in a living situation that did not at all reflect my existence. The apartments were fairly ritzy, spacious, and we had nice things. They were very well appointed... with all the tan, black and stainless steel you could ever expect to see in a mid-twenties bachelor's pad, because that's exactly what it was. They weren't home to me. My knick-knacks were tucked away in boxes, pictures and posters laid under the bed, my art supplies hidden in the closet, and my pride-and-joy of a book collection stashed in a black trunk. I might as well have stuffed myself into a box too. From this experience I've taken a love for design, and a need to make my place my own, my safe place, my home.

I moved out of that situation and into my current one last September. As ideal as my lovely greenbelt apartment is right now, I'm aching for something cozy. Something in me wants to trade this 1000-sq ft sprawl for a something with a snugger fit, a gem in the rough that I can pour myself into and be proud of. Something with a decent kitchen (girl's gotta have room to create), walls lined with shelves that spill over with books, movies, art, pictures, memories. I want my home to be welcoming, I want every wall and every corner to reflect some aspect of me, I want this tiny place I have pictured in my head to happily burst with ChristaLou the moment the door is unbolted.

I realize I'm sounding more and more demanding here, but I am taking that liberty to want what I want and work for it, instead of clicking my heels in hope it might get dropped in my lap. Thus begins the 9-month countdown to something that speaks of home.