$1275/month

My apartment is in shambles.

Twice worn clothing is scattered about the floor, not thrown aimlessly into a pile... rather, even more aimlessly dropped where it was taken off. Every pair of shoes I have worn over the last few weeks is similarly discarded right where they came off my feet. I'm hunched over my laptop at my dining room table. To my left are two plates, each with small crusted drippings of the Buffalo sauce that fell off my vegetarian spicy chicken patty. The first plate is from yesterday's dinner. The second plate is from lunch today. On my right are three more plates, all bearing similar little orange dots.

I stare at the screen of my tiny laptop (she took the computer) I purchased to fill the electronic void. I have my own computer... I've had one for years a tech hording friend of mine gave me. It was years old back when it was new to me. I plugged it in a few days ago, and while I am not usually an impatient person, I could not stand its... deliberateness (read - slowness).

Now, my apartment isn't always like this. When it wants to, it cleans up quite nice. It wants to when I want it to, and I want it to whenever anyone comes over. Which is infrequent, and since I am terribly easy to impress, its orderly state slides into chaos as each day since company passes. Its just that in the midst of the rest of the things I have to do... house cleaning just isn't important. Except when people come over. I have no problem transforming this somewhat giant apartment for the benefit of others. For a guy living alone, I'm actually pretty good at it.

My skill in cleaning falls out of the same series of events that made me the sole resident of this two bedroom apartment in Pasadena. I used to have a roommate, and not only a roommate, but a very specialized kind called a fiance. Angie and I moved to Pasadena in pursuit of her educational goals one year ago. We had dreamed of getting accepted into schools in the same place, but her desire for a climate calmer than Illinois left my choices of school very limited and ill fitting for what I wanted to study (and was subsequently not accepted). She on the other hand managed to land a spot in medical school. So I quit my job, my school, and helped her set out for California.

I grew up a lot making that choice. I've always thought of myself as a smart and noble person, but in that transition I was forced to choose between the two. Go off and be smart for myself? No, I'll live up to my word and help another.

This story isn't really about breaking up, so I'll gloss over that part. Ask me sometime in person if you want relationship advice (I'll gladly give it). Rather, this story is about what happened after that break up. What I did with the apartment. What I did with my life.

If you've ever been dumped... it sucks.

See, we all have ideas about what has happened and what is going to happen to us. Stories, if you will. When you date someone that person becomes a major player, second only to you (and perhaps even your own primacy fades if you throw your life to the wind for their sake). When you start thinking about being with them forever, well, that story extends out into every aspect of your life. While you might not know the particulars, you know the characters of the script, and you know who is going to play them.

But when you get dumped, that all comes crashing down. Quite suddenly what was a plan, the rest of your life, becomes an actorless fiction. Even the past, which used to be a shared memory and the foundation of your life together, becomes a strangely illegitimate and burdensome history. In my case there was marriage, medical school, maybe my school in the future, children... all instantly evaporated. These plans had become more real to me than my own personal dreams (which were to be some sort of academic prodigy). I had put off my schooling to make the timing of the move right, not applied to the schools I wanted, given up my teaching job and ministry job with little promise of a Californian replacement, and took up selling bagels for nearly minimum wage just to pay the rent (don't feel to bad, I ended up getting both a great teaching job and an awesome ministry job). Prodigies aren't supposed to sell bagels after they get Master's degrees, but our collective dreams had trumped my own.

Anyway, those collective dreams vanished when Angie left. All I have are awkward histories and irrelevant futures. And an apartment that costs $1275/month.

I started rewriting those stories a few months ago. It was a bit difficult at first, I'll admit, but I once I really got thinking about what my new future could hold, I got pretty excited. Angie wan't much for traveling... I could now see the world. Nor was she much for serving others... I could now save the world. I had a lot of help from friends and family. I had also stated dating a really great girl who shared my passion for adventure and giving. There was only really one final step.

What to do with this stupid apartment.