It's a specific point in life that you've reached when you're walking through your parents' house and you think, "When I have my own place..." In my case the phrase ended, "my bathroom will have a window"--a descent light source. I'm at my parents' place, back from college, before I go to my sister's place, and finally on to a place that's almost my own. Summer life, I settled for any apartment I could get, so I could get a job.
I have no experience--no criteria for criticism, really. I don't know what good or bad rent is, or what good or bad flatmates will be. It's a new world full of mystery and novelty and mostly naivety. The place that I will most likely move into next month seems full of promise. I've only read about it and heard second-hand stories. I trust these accounts, and like what I've heard. Quite honestly, I don't know what else to expect from a place. You can't just ask what the emotional atmosphere of a house is.
They won't advertise their misgivings. That's why clever people pride themselves in discerning defects in people from little to no information. You see it in movies and TV shows--there's the tricky guy who reads someone's self-description online, "Oh, that guy's old, and she's fat, and you don't want to go near that guy 'cause he talks too nice--he just wants to rob you." But that's just criticism; I tend to be rather critical of criticism.
Well, I could keep going, but I'll stop here. This is my first post on my first blog, and I really have no direction for it. I basically intend it to be some sort of diary, and to cultivate my writing, of course. Help me get thinking of things, and what not. God only knows where this'll all end up, but that's not such a bad thing, either.
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