From Homeless to Squatter, Progress Is Made

Last night I moved five boxes and two bags, aka all my belongings in the world. Being rather wary of encroaching on Re-Boyfriend’s roommate's space, all my belongings in the world now sit in the hallway.

“CB,” Re-Boyfriend asked tentatively, “Don’t you think we should try to fit them in the apartment? You know, so they’ll be safe?”

“If someone is actually going to come all the way up here and carry one of those boxes down four flights of stairs, then I will say ‘You deserve it.’ I mean, I can’t even lift one,” I said with false bravado.

While true that I could not lift a box, I would probably cry were one to disappear, seeing as that would constitute approximately 1/6 of everything I own. Still, I preferred to leave my things in the hall to limit my usage of apartment space. Re-Boyfriend’s roommate had not exactly asked for me to stop by with all of my stuff for a week, take up shower time and not pay rent.

I had a plan to minimize my interference with the roommate’s daily life. I would shower at odd hours, speak in low tones and take out my trash nightly. To preserve the illusion that I was visiting, rather than crashing, I planned to keep as many of my things in the hall as possible. I organized my belongings into the nonessentials (books and clothes kept in the boxes in the hallway), essentials (clothing for the next week and a laptop which would be kept in the apt.), and nonessential but often needed items (shower products, toothbrush, etc. to be kept in an easily accessible bag in the hallway). Through these ingenious divisions, I ensured that at no time were there more of my items in the apartment than strictly necessary.

This morning the plan went into action. I woke up and tiptoed into the hall for my face wash. I tiptoed back into the apartment.

I realized I had left my toothbrush outside. I tiptoed into the hall. I tiptoed back into the apartment.

“Forget something?” Re-Boyfriend asked, emerging from his bedroom, smiling at me as though I were an adorable, if wayward, six-year old.

“No,” I told him haughtily. “This is part of my elaborate plan. The hallway is like my dressing room.”

Then I decided I wanted my moisturizer. I went into the hall. I went back into the apartment.

Oops. A towel.

I went into the hall. I went back into the apartment.

Oh! A hair-dryer for later.

I went into the hall. I went back into the apartment to find the roommate had emerged from sleep in order to scratch his back in the middle of living room.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking at me oddly.

“CB, this is seriously annoying. Just take the bag inside,” Re-Boyfriend told me.

“What are you doing?” the roommate asked, understandably confused. "I thought I heard you leave, like, five times already."

I was pretty sure I saw Re-Boyfriend smirk a little.

I said nothing and went into the bathroom with as much quiet dignity as I could reasonably muster.

Less than twelve hours and my plan has already failed. Seven days to go.