Anyone I have ever lived with will tell you that I am a freak about lighting. The first thing I do when I get home is turn off all the overhead lights and flick on every lamp in the apartment. Something about the recessed lighting beaming down mercilessly from above makes me anxious: it reminds me of the terrible fluorescent lights embedded in drop-down ceilings at work, which give everyone a sad pale sheen and seem to emphasize forehead grease.
I spent the first few years of my post-college adult life living in a very non-adult setting: 2 roommates, 800 square feet, 6th floor rental unit with no elevator. Leaks were frequent, appliances never worked, and we had no money whatsoever to invest in our apartment. My bedroom was so small that I could lay on my bed and touch all 4 walls at once.
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