lazy

I came to a startling realization last night as I walked into my bedroom, hit the light switch, and heard that unmistakable tiny metallic pop—a flash of light and then sudden darkness. The sound of that luminous filament finally calling it quits. Standing there in the dark I realized that in the full year I have lived in this apartment I have never once changed a light bulb. And gazing up at the light fixture positioned so nice and centrally on my sloping high ceiling (previously such a perk), I suddenly shared my roommate’s dislike of overhead lighting (although he dislikes it for reasons other than difficult bulb replacement situations…). I thought about calling the super to come change it for me, but then I couldn’t even think of where we might have more bulbs, plus it was 11pm and I was slightly hesitant to perhaps wake him to aid me in my pathetic plight. And as it was already late, I didn’t bother to do anything about it—except to laugh at myself for being so helpless as I crawled into bed.

New York has made it so easy to be lazy. All I really lack is a trash chute on my floor—so I don’t have to ride the elevator to the basement to dispose of my refuse… I’ll make sure my next apartment has one.