I am apartment hunting for the first time in my 50 years on this earth. Sounds a little dramatic? Well, it is for me.
To give a little background: I moved out of my parents' house the first time a few weeks after I turned 24. Just before that birthday, I had decided it was about time I got my own place. I had even started buying flatware. Then my sister and brother-in-law told me they were moving to Florida. They had been renting what I optimistically called a carriage house. Most people referred to it as a salt box.
I don't know the history of this little house for certain, but I have come up with a plausible hypothesis. This little two-bedroom house was the original house on the property, probably built in the late 1800's. It boasted a full basement (unfinished), a living room with a bedroom off it, a kitchen with a bedroom off it, a tiny bathroom (with a wonderful claw-foot tub, but no shower) and a small room that was an add-on some time in the 20th century. Quite noticeable was the fact that there wasn't a square corner or level floor anywhere. Well, maybe the basement was level. For real, you didn't need a level or plumb line to see it. Anyway, a much bigger house was built on the lot, leaving the little house for servants quarters, a guest house or related living.
I loved that little house. I rented for five years. My daughter was born when I lived there. There were sidewalks and stores within walking distance. I let friends talk me into saving up to buy my own place. I--we moved in with my parents, where I tried to save toward a down payment on a house.
Another five years later and I was anxious to get my own place again. At the time, the realtors were proclaiming that you could own for less than you could rent. I had a realtor friend so I ventured into the homeowners arena by buying a condo on the other side of town. I didn't want to be too far from my parents as they were my primary child caregivers.
It was a great condo--almost. Almost 1000 square feet, two bedrooms and a decent amount of light. On the ground floor, we had a small patio and I was allowed to plant flowers at the edge of the landscaped rock beds. We were there more than four years when I decided I couldn't stand other people's noise. There really was no insulation between units. I repaired a hole in the back wall under the kitchen sink. After I removed the moldy pieces, I realize I was looking straight into the neighbor's undersink cabinet! Nothing but one sheet of drywall separating us! The ceilings were no better. When I was in my bedroom, I could hear the guy upstairs peeing in his bathroom. (He drank a lot!) It took 13 months to sell the condo, though, so we were there for five and a half years.
Back to my parents, while I tried to save and look for a house. With the same realtor friend, I finally found a nice house in an older neighborhood. However, the buyers backed out of the contract because they got a better offer. This turned out to be a blessing as I was let go from my job just four months later.
Now, thirteen years after moving back into my childhood home thinking I was going to buy a house, I must move out again. This time for good. My Dad died eight years ago and my Mom died two months ago. I also realized it would be the first time I would being living on my own since my daughter's birth 24 years ago. I'd only had two and a half years on my own before she was born and most of that was spent with a boyfriend.
It's weird. I'm scrolling through craigslist.com, looking at maps of various towns, cities and neighborhoods within them. Prior to this, I knew of four neighborhoods in the city of Chicago. Garfield Ridge, Clearing, Roseland and Pullman. Well, five, if you count The Loop. I don't want to live in Chicago's city limits, but rent is dirt cheap in some areas. Except I wouldn't want to live in most of those areas.
To find cheaper apartments in the suburbs, I have to go west. So far, Joliet would give me the most bang for my buck, so to speak. Maybe it's the state prison that turns people off. That doesn't bother me too much. I've lived with the tollway as a close neighbor to the north and I've seen many strange people (and not just as in unknown) because of it. To the south is an enormous apartment complex. Actually two complexes. Or is it three? It keeps changing names. The complex is right around the corner and is subsidized housing. Now that alone doesn't mean there are bad people. But the sheer volume of humanity there ups the odds of the not-so-nice and downright bad people living next door to you. Which is evidenced by the number of sirens we hear in there each week. If I read about a shooting in my village of Justice, nine times out of ten, it's in that complex.
This weekend, I am going to see a couple of apartments in Joliet. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. I had hoped something would fall in my lap, like it did when I was 24, but oh, well. I'll deal. And I'll drag my daughter, best friends or whoever I need along with me!
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