This was my very first apartment, in 1999. Not the first I'd ever lived in, to be sure; but the first one I kept all to myself, without sharing with roomates or boyfriends or anybody at all, just me.
They told me I could paint, and so I did - two walls in the living room, and the entire bedroom. I had begun gardening two years before in the old duplex I used to share with a group of friends; my "garden" in this apartment consisted of a dozen or so potted plants that I'd salvaged when I moved away from the duplex.
And yes, I had inflatable furniture, LOL. I had almost no furniture (only a nightstand and a rocking chair) at this point in my life, and few posessions, and even less money; so the most expedient option when I got this place was a boxed set of three living room pieces and a 99-c Barbie air pump, LOL. The bookshelf in the picture I got for free from a department store that was throwing it away.
I even had a cat, for a while. I left my sliding glass door open to the breeze most afternoons when I got home from work (I didn't drive back then, so my apartment was literally across the street from my office). One day, a young black cat waltzed in like he owned the place. He didn't stay inside with me, but he came over to hang out every day for a few months, until one day he passed my place by and didn't come inside. Oh, well.
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I love living on my own. I love it now, and I loved it in 1999, even though I only lived at this apartment for six months before moving in with a guy I was dating (sigh). Is it scary sometimes? Yes. But I love it, I really do.
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