Back to my This is Life in … roots, a post on This is Life in a Motel.
As I mentioned in Apartment Search, I am still looking for the perfect apartment. In my quest to not settle for anything less, perhaps paradoxically I moved into a motel (a motel, it should be noted, that is across the street from the beach and one block from my old house, meaning I’m in the same stomping grounds). The motel is decidedly “less”, but it will be a conduit to more.
One surprising side effect of owning up to the desire for more by living in the motel is that I have no patience for any bullshit. I don’t normally have much patience for it anyway, but I am usually pretty understanding, tolerant, and sweet. Not now.
Is it ironic, that in a temporary situation, a season of wait, as I am suspended entirely in the unknown, I have come to be more certain about what I do know? The motel is making me more assertive. More confident. More sure of what I want, and more willing to ask for what that is.
First night’s dinner in the motel: cold cuts, cheese, and plantain chips.
What’s life like in a motel? Pretty much the same as normal life, only I eat all my meals at work, or eat cold food, and I have to lock my door whenever I leave, and all my stuff is in storage save for 8 shirts, 8 pairs of pants, 6 pairs of shoes, and some Kentucky Derby dresses and heels. Oh, and loads of workout clothes. I do not shower here, I shower at the gym.
The other inhabitants of the motel, and they are inhabitants for I have not seen one person come and go and I’ve lived there for a week and a half, are actually very sweet. They invited me to share in their Friday night barbecue. Offered to teach me to surf. Everyone has dogs.
Inside the motel.
I’ve invited friends over, but no one has taken me up on it yet. C’mon over, people!
I live in a motel, and I have no patience for your bullshit.