The first day of my life.
Dear journal-
I am sitting in my beautiful amazing studio apartment in the colorful area of Chelsea (no one really warned me how colorful, I mean my neighbor Marie already gave me her number after a wink and flex of her very tattooed arm). Sure when they said studio apartment on the phone I pictured a 10th floor loft over looking the city and not a fifth floor walk up with one bedroom dangerously close to the fridge in the alcove… I mean kitchen.
But hey… I am twenty-four and living on my own. How many other kids could say that? Not many. Well I shouldn’t say kid, I am a young adult and not the way tweens say young adult, I am actually a young adult. I have a credit card with my name on it to prove it.
And who needs exposed brick I have exposed pipes.
And I’m sure the insect problem my extremely intimidating tall landlord was talking about will be fixed super shortly.
But again, this is super great. I will be the next Carrie Bradshaw. No, not the next Carrie Bradshaw, I will be the new Genna (pronounced Jenna, not Gina or Guhnah) Harriet Willis. That’s right New York City world Genna Willis is taking over and taking names (or however that goes).
So what if the mustard yellow walls are chipped and the “hardwood” floors are oddly sticky and my bed is Murphy style? I will rock this. I will learn to afford this city and then rock this.
More to come-
Brave New Girl
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