Here’s how the first week in my South End apartment went

Like everybody in my life and on the internet knew I would, I have survived moving into my apartment and being on my own, but it came with a few bumps, falls and bruises. And I haven’t ordered Postmates once.

I kept a journal of it all – here’s how the first week went.

P.S. These entries aren’t meant to be taken that seriously – I’m making fun of myself because I know how deeply I overthink and how ridiculous the rabbit holes I fall down are. If I can’t make fun of myself, what’s the point?

Day one

10:30 a.m. I trade two checks (one for $100 and another for $771) in for two sets of keys, a key fob and a garage door opener. The leasing agent takes me to the apartment and we do a walk-through before I sign off that yes, everything looks fine.

11:00 a.m. Load the first bit of boxes into the elevator, let the doors close and then press the button of my floor. I’m so absorbed in my email that I don’t realize I haven’t moved.

11:03 a.m. I can’t get the door to open. I can’t get the fob to work. It’s starting to get hot and I’m starting to panic and sweat. I wouldn’t call myself claustrophobic, but wouldn’t call myself not claustrophobic, either. WHY ISN’T ANYTHING WORKING?

1:00 p.m. Realize that I signed off on the walk-through too soon. Whoever lived in this apartment before wrecked it: the trim on the base of my counter comes off in my hand and I feel like I’m wielding a wooden sword, the stovetop is scratched beyond repair, something that looks like it may have been Mac ‘n Cheese exploded in the microwave and almost every window screen has been pushed out and inexplicably unable to be put back in.

3:00 p.m. Take a break from arranging and rearranging furniture, unpacking boxes and cleaning to get lunch with my mom, who’s been a real trouper today. Take a picture of a giant Rice Krispies Treat, put it on the Agenda’s Instagram and get bombarded with comments about how having a fork and knife in the photo makes people mad (we’d split it.). Whatever. Can’t get me down today, guys.

5:00 p.m. Get the first round of groceries: eggs, bread, sandwich meat, cereal, bananas and milk at Trader Joe’s. I realize when I unload the bags that my apartment screams 20-something-female but my fridge and pantry both scream 20-something-male-bachelor.

8:00 p.m. Turn off every light and pull the blinds all the way up to appreciate the skyline view.

10:00 p.m. Say goodbye to my mom and only tear up once in the elevator on the way back up.

11:00 p.m. Literally fall into bed and sleep hard until 6:30 the next morning when I realize how badly I need curtains.

Day two

3:00 a.m. Stumble into the bathroom and promptly fall over a box that I apparently thought would be fine in the middle of the floor.

9:30 a.m. I need to leave for work but I’m so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of keys I have now that I can’t get my head on straight. I’ve gone from carrying only a car key to a car key, a mailbox key, an apartment key and a fob to get through ANY door in the complex, which doesn’t seem that bad, but they’re on two different key chains. Make a mental note to fix that. It probably doesn’t help that I’m exhausted and now I’m wondering if I should’ve waited until the weekend to move.

I get all the way down to my car before I realize I didn’t lock my apartment door. Go back upstairs, find that I did lock the door, go back down to my car, wonder where my garage door opener is, go back upstairs to find it, can’t find it, leave for work anyway, panicking about how I’ll get into the garage this afternoon, then find it under the driver’s side seat. Hello, Thursday.

Day three

5:30 p.m. Friday night! See my family for an hour before they go home. That was weird to write down.

7:30 p.m. I could go out or I could take into consideration that I just dropped $871 for this little slice of paradise. I eat leftover pizza, watch Hulu and unpack instead.

9:40 p.m. Didn’t eat enough dinner, drank too much wine. Am I wine tipsy alone? Yep. Looks like a wonderful night to binge the second season of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.

10:40 p.m. Get a text from a friend asking me to go out, but I stay on the couch with some more wine only for me because I’m an adult and nobody can tell me what to do. I tell him I learned to say no to peer pressure in middle school. Really, I’m just too tired.

Day four

6:15 a.m. Wake up from a way-too-real dream where my teeth were falling out and my boyfriend was moving to China to get away from me and letting me know, as he put his things in the same bag he took when we (really) went to Chile last year, that I wasn’t going to change his mind. Cry like I’ve just been broken up with for thirty minutes and text two different people to let it all out.

10:30 a.m. He calls to see what I’m up to and seeing his name makes me cry again. I answer and beg him not to move to China through tears. His reaction: “Wait… what?”

11:45 a.m. He comes over and I manage to calm down. We lounge on the couch, both slightly hungover before laying on the bed, which is interesting, because I was never allowed to have a guy in my room when I lived with my parents.

4:30 p.m. We meet my parents for drinks at Latta Arcade before they go to a baseball game. I think both parties are trying to figure out the “How often you’re supposed to see/talk to each other” balance. We wander through Romare Bearden before parting ways.

5:30 p.m. I buy a bookshelf at Marshalls that I saw the day before. I have no idea where I’ll put it or what will go on it, but I know I need it. It starts at $60, but there’s a scratch, so it’s knocked down 10% and I have a gift card that covers most of it – only $7 comes out of my pocket, so I don’t feel guilty about it.

6:30 p.m. Figure out where the bookshelf will go, but still don’t know what to put on it. I stare at it through dinner but get too anxious to make a move.

7:30 p.m. I load the dishwasher, put in the soap and shut and lock the door before I realize it won’t turn on. Is it broken? Did it break in the last 96 hours? Get myself worked up about it, text my mom about it, get my boyfriend to look at it, then cry when I realize the switch just wasn’t flipped.

8:00 p.m. My boyfriend and I turn on Netflix and fire up E.T. I had no idea it was such an emotional movie – it all went over my head when I was ten – and cry from the last thirty minutes on. Hard. I continue crying after the credits have rolled. He’ll be right here. 

11:01 p.m. Realize it doesn’t really matter what people think – they’ve been in this position before, too, they just didn’t have it on blast on the internet. I’ve gotten “I hate you” emails from strangers just as my inbox dings with “Everything this girl writes is so honest and relatable” tweets and emails from strangers.

Besides, if you try to tell me you’ve never been so tired you spent most of your day fighting tears, you’re lying to yourself and to me.

Day five

4:00 a.m. Wake up halfway and realize that there’s a guy in my living room watching me sleep on the couch. Wake up fully and realize that he’s actually not there at all – I fell asleep watching dumb YouTube videos on the T.V. Move to the bed.

10:30 a.m. Facetime rings – it’s a friend that wants to meet up for brunch. He asks where I am – my house or my boyfriend’s? I’m at mine, and he tells me he’s happy and excited for me after I give him the grand, 650-square-foot tour.

5:30 p.m. Pick out a recipe that will give me a leg up in stocking my kitchen with the essentials. I double it to last me for at least a meal a day for the rest of the week, and the total comes to $38 at Publix. How is that possible? Whatever. Throw it all together and then cook chicken on the Foreman. Weirdly domestic-feeling, weirdly satisfying.

Day six

1:00 p.m. It’s so nice out that I come home to eat on the terrace. Beautiful day, save for the little red ants crawling around.

6:30 p.m. Head to the gym for a workout. I think I’ve lost my headphones, so I just tread along while I listen to my own feet. Boring. But two people my age walk in, but because it’s the gym, headphones in = no talking.

8:45 p.m. Catch up on Jane the Virgin and fall into bed.

Day seven

5:20 p.m. I’m home from work and want something sweet, so I grab leftover ice cream from the fridge and eat it before dinner and look around and feel completely at home.

7:45 p.m. Wonder why today’s entry feels so empty and realize that it’s because the feeling of fumbling around a new space and trying to get my balance has passed and I’ve survived moving into the next phase of life. Bam. Get at me, Real World.