I've lapsed on open apartment these past two weeks. Last week I had a midterm to cram for and today I'm sick--sore throat, thick head, and a chest full of sludge. During September and October, almost every Sunday, people came over for the afternoon to talk about books and life.
I like making my house available to invasion. My tendency is always to close off, isolate, and protect, but this tendency has become so distasteful to me. When Hannah comes in and opens cupboards, finds herself a mug and the jasmine tea and offers some to Geoff as well, I feel grateful that I can have this kind of home, if I let myself.
At the end of this month, Dylan and I are moving into artists' housing in another part of town entirely. Our new apartment is above the Nina Haggerty centre, across from the Portuguese bakery, down the street from a storefront boxing club which is lit up at night like a big television. We're going to live in a neighborhood full of people I think we should learn from. Hardly any of them were born here.
I've been worried about moving away from 99th Street, forgetting that the kind of community I was so thrilled to discover here is largely a product of my eagerness to participate. (Also my eagerness to document.)
All to say that open apartment will continue, and you're in luck if you already live across the river. I'd love it if you showed up.