I am a Chicago resident. More so than I was before because now, I have my very own address, my own domestic sphere--a furnished studio apartment on the eighth floor of a "vintage" building.
It feels oh so good to have my own tiny place in this world (again)!
I'm not smack in the middle of a bustling downtown area where the constant squawk of the four-door yellow bird kills the quiet; I don't have that kind of money. And if I did, it still wouldn't be for me. I'm on the southside of the city with windows looking north. I love love love the view. I can see a sliver of the lake and the Sears tower. I see rooftops covered in snow, balconies, and city lights that register life in the distance.
Last night was my first night, today my first full day. And what a day it is. Obama is now our President, and his call for change will now have to be a daily chant that echoes from the white house to the streets where soon enough I too will be asking for change, but on street corners and highway exits. This girl needs a job and quick.
I won't tell you about how hard it is looking for work in a new city (I just did). Nor will I go on and on about how I much it slows me down having to walk on sidewalks that are buried under ice, snow, and frozen dog pissshit (I'll just mention it).
I won't even talk about how I moved my stuff out of my friend's house in -10 degree weather, huffing and puffing, feeling my breath and sweat cover my face in ice, while thinking that I had some serious mocos the whole time when it was only the hairs all the way up in my nose that had frozen stiff. If I talked about any of those things, it would seem like I was complaining about the cold and living in this city. Honestly, I've yet to have a day where I've said "why the f did I leave LA?" I'm still naively enchanted.
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