It's 5:25 in the morning. I still hate waking up this time of day. I remember hoping in my teens that someday the morning person hidden in me would spring forward and take over. He hasn't yet and I honestly don't know if he ever will. I do appreciate this time of day though. Especially here in New York. The trains are less crowded, the streets are still quiet and smell of pastries and coffee, the sun rising through the buildings, I love all of those things.
There are some other "marks of adulthood" that haven't quite kicked in for me yet. I'm still a mess potential. This is something that bothers me as well. My twenties have involved me living in several locations, some of which were just mine: something everyone should experience at least once as a test of your person.
I remember during my twentieth year I was living in the West Apartment building at Central Wyoming College. It was a dated and fairly small apartment. The cabinets were Orange Formica and the Furniture was repurposed shipping pallets, it was ugly but it was my own.
That year I had thrown a Christmas Party and didn't actually finishing cleaning up after until my birthday. Gross. In my defense I was rocking a twenty-four credit semester, two jobs, and every show the department produced that year in some fashion, plus being a typical twenty year old and purposefully missing out on the four hours of sleep opportunity actually available to me by hanging out with friends. Cleaning was quite literally my last priority as a twenty year old human. I thought perhaps the age and lack of aesthetic value in that apartment was also a factor.
It was a little better after I moved to Missoula, Montana to continue my education. I had multiple roommates for the first time in my life and that helped but even still, none of us were naturally neat people. I actually ended up living in three places in Missoula in my five year tenure there.
The first one was a beautiful three bedroom duplex on the South Hills. I loved that place. My dad drove all of our stuff up there from Riverton, Wyoming using one of his many covered trailers. He lead the convoy at an excrutiatingly slow pace up Interstate 90, I occupied the center spot, and my friend Alex (he had another name at the time) brought up the rear. When we arrived, we squatted on our own living room floor because the real estate managers, Lambros: a name that would grow more foul the longer I stayed, had decided to change our move in date without informing us. I should have known there was something amiss because three months later, Lambros sold the property out from under our lease and forced us to move.
We ended up on Calistoga Street in the Canyon Creek Village (nationally famous because of its Harry Potter themed street names) in a lovely three bedroom house that over looked the interstate. It was neat to live in a house all our own! Our only complaint was that when the wind blew, the pilot light went out. We stayed for six months until our lease ended and my roommates headed to opposite ends of the country - one in L.A. and one in Nashville.
My third and final home was a beautiful one bedroom apartment on Pine Street in Historic Downtown Missoula. I stayed in this place for five years. It was not only three times the size of the apartment in NYC we live in now, but it was also the first place my wife and I lived together. We even went so far as to research the apartment building's history because of its unique architecture and layout. We loved that place and were sad to see it go.
All of the places in Missoula were habitually messy as well. So much for the aesthetic nature of the home inspiring me to clean. I remember as a child, the only time I ever wanted to have a neat room was when a friend or guest was coming over. That feeling stayed with me through my teens and my early twenties.
In New York, we have lived in two apartments so far: both in Crown Heights in Brooklyn, one on Park Place and one on Pacific Street. One was "historic" and the other a gut renovated house of sin. Don't worry everyone, there is literally nothing left from the days of yore and anyone who has been inside can see how lovely the building has become.
These two have also been habitually messy. I could claim, and rightfully so, that this city is too fast paced and requires far more effort just to live and therefore my home can lean toward the messy side of the spectrum. While that is partially factual, the truth remains that cleaning is not especially high on my list of priorities. My poor wife was a bit of a neat freak before I came into her life and has sadly had to settle for a less than spotless existence. On the bright side, we both have more relaxing time; something that is rare and desperately needed here. Also on the positive side of the spectrum, I have gotten better about doing dishes and dusting, scrubbing and polishing, and staying somewhat organized. However to claim it will ever become my top priority; alas it probably will not. Although who knows, maybe in nineteen days something will finally click and I'll become a compulsive tidier. Maybe I'll also become a morning person who isn't dependent on stimulants in high doses. Who can say? Anything is possible.
