For the past two years, we have been paying $2595 for our 375-square-foot one-bedroom (rent is being lowered to $2295 starting in September). A lot of it is our West Village location; meanwhile, the character of our neighborhood is being jeopardized as artists and small business owners are being priced out of the Village, making way for Marc Jacobs and Coach stores. I love where we live, and I wouldn’t change it, but it’s still ridiculous to hand over a rent check that sucks up so much of my take-home pay — especially in an older, non-doorman, non-luxury building without any of the amenities Julia’s place has (such as an in-house gym), or adequate closet space.
375 square feet?
I’m sorry, but that is ridiculous. That’s basically my bedroom and bathroom and maybe a little of the hall in my apartment. And you say “our.” Does that mean multiple people live there? That sounds like a nightmare.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.”—the perks of being a wallflower (via straydogsick)