My second year living in Santa Cruz was probably the most memorable for many reasons. I think it was my �coolest� years. I lived in the most amazing apartment. It was downtown, right off of the street mall. The house was built in the early 1900�s and was even listed in a book on the architecture of Santa Cruz. Downstairs, sort of behind the building, there was this place called �The Well Within�. It was a place where you could get a massage, or rent a hot tub or sauna by the hour. Not a trashy place, a place of healing and restoration. Each of the hot tubs were in a private room that had these big doors that would open up to a beautiful garden in the back yard. The apartment building itself was 4 apartments converted from one big house. It was bright blue. In fact, my bedroom inside this apartment was bright blue. I called it gumball blue. The ceilings of the apartment were covered with bamboo. The living room had built in shelves.
When T and I moved there, we didn�t really have any furniture except our bedroom furniture. My sister was going to drive up some furniture that my parents didn�t need anymore, but she couldn�t come until February. We moved in there in November. So T and I would go to local grocery stores and steal milk crates. We had the built in shelves in the living room. Then we had milk crate shelves, milk crate tables, milk crate chairs. They are so versatile! When I came home for Thanksgiving that year, my sister had bought a table for us from an office liquidation sale. It was industrial but hey, it was our first piece of furniture. We put it in the kitchen and used it with our milk crate chairs. Our apartment also came with one of those stereo consoles that are in a bench. It didn�t work, but it made a great bench. Along with the milk crates and the built in shelves, we were rocking.
Because of the hot tub place down below, many people thought we were a brothel. Our apartment had this rickety balcony that barely held a chair. I remember I was sitting out there one sunny spring day. A guy was in the parking lot below and started talking to me. I could barely hear him and don�t really know what he was asking me, so I was just politely nodding my head and saying yes. Turns out he was asking if he could come up and roll in the hay with me� LOL. Uh, no thanks sir, I�m trying to study so I can leave this life of prostitution behind!
Across the street from us, there was a little church. It was quite fundamental and straight laced. All the men wore full beards. The family�s had a million kids each. They all drove station wagons. The women wore long skirts and shirts buttoned up to the neck. They wore their hair straight and without bangs. One of our (T and I) favorite activities: Sunday afternoon after church let out, we would open all of our windows (our apartment overlooked the parking lot used by the church members) and we would BLAST George Michael�s �I Want Your Sex�. We were truly evil. I am sure hell still has a chair with my name on it as a result.
There�s no real point to this entry, just a long rambling memory. That was the year I cut myself for the first time. I cut myself 50 times for my first time as a cutter. I explained it away as cat scratches (who the hell was I kidding?). It was the street outside where I went into a comatose state for about 20 to 30 minutes. I just curled up in a ball in the street. I was too overwhelmed by life.
I experienced some of my lowest moments in that apartment. Moments that I can pat myself on the back for surviving. If I want to know how strong I am as a person, how much I have overcome, I need only think of that year. I need only remind myself that I survived. That I picked myself up and kept on living.
I have other memories, not nearly so sad. Just little flashes really. Sitting on the hard-wood kitchen floor, drinking hot tea and holding a sleeping cat. Going for a 7 mile bike ride down to the beach. Walking along the mall to the used record store and buying gems for 2 bucks. Eating lunch on the balcony watching the sunset. Smelling the chinese food from the restaurant across the parking lot. Being so close to the bus stop that all my friends would drop by on their way home from class. It was THE place. Everyone wanted to live there. I was lucky to have had such a year.
Here�s the apartment (Oh, and did I mention, we lived on ELM street?):
