My slave–so sweet!
So I’m becoming an adult I guess. Since moving to America nearly four months ago I’ve gotten a bank account, a phone that turns on without the assistance of a safety pin and a hammer, and… get ready, an apartment! I’m officially un-homeless. Weird!
This whole process of growing up has been a weird mix of excitement and apprehension. For starters, I paid my first rent check OF MY LIFE the other day, which I guess is sort of impressive considering I’m almost twenty-five. It was strange; after living in the squatter mindset for so long, the idea of paying rent is so alien to me that I actually began laughing out loud when writing the check. My landlord found this amusing. Then immediately afterward I got a horrible stomach ache, realizing that though it’s nice to have a home or whatever, in reality Im pretty poor (who isn’t?) and I might struggle to pay New York’s extortionate rent prices. However, I must be in someone’s good books because this morning, in the height of my panic, I received an an email from my slave offering to pay my rent.
In my last post I expressed my slight anxiety toward being bought gifts by the slave without giving him anything in return. I’m over that now. It totally makes sense that a weird perv in Ireland that I’ve never met should be paying my rent. And buying me vibrators. And sending me love letters signed in his own blood. It’s just redemption for being such a good person or whatever. And to be honest, my slave seems like a pretty put-together, nice guy. I’m actually beginning to like him, in a ‘I don’t ever want you within 1000 miles of me’ sort of way.
So far having a real apartment has been pretty good. I realized the other day that the last time I had my own bedroom was in in June of 2009, so having my own space is cool I guess. Although I’ve literally yet to spend a single night in my room alone, as I’m constantly housing all my homeless friends and people I know from London and elsewhere who are passing through New York. Also the place is sort of a shithole, and I’m genuinely confused about why I’m paying money to live somewhere which is definitely a step down from all the cool, massive abandoned warehouses I inhabited over the past five years. Welcome to the real world, I guess!
My slave–so sweet!