When I was younger, I imagined that I would one day live in a beautiful loft apartment with my close friends, in the middle of Downtown Manhattan or Soho. In my room, I’d have a beautiful bedroom with the comfy bed, facing the window, where I’d sit legs crossed with my laptop and a cup of coffee and write novel-worthy things all day.

Instead I got the house that- yes probably got minorly hit by a tree- and looks at other buildings. The house is really old but it costs wayyy to much to repair, especially before 2007, where there was only 1 working parent. The walls are cracked and the windows I do have in my room overlook the various backyards that house killer pitbulls, thrown out furniture and garbage cans.

Not exactly the Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle I was hoping for.