3 years ago, on a day trip up from the resort I was working at,  I went to find housing for the fall semester. I had only a couple hours to search before I had to pack up and head back down to work. In that time I looked at a couple different apartment complexes on the west side of campus. I had already decided I did not want to live south of campus due to the overpopulation in that area. I remember the first place I looked at. It was nice, had a fair amount of space, had a pool, but had an electric range. The price was great, the location great, and I put it at the top of my list. The same people who managed that complex also managed a different complex two blocks over. It had just been changed from women's to men's housing (though they rent to couples in the summer) and because of the change, it was not familiar to many people and had some spots left. I went and looked at it. The downstairs apartment I looked at was not the greatest, but the location was even better, it had a washer and dryer in each unit, and it had gas burners. The price was more than I was looking for, but I decided to sign up. A little over a month later, I moved into what became not just my apartment, but my home.

The first year in Apartment G was a struggle. I returned to my campus job, where I was laid off after the Christmas break. I tried as best as I knew how to keep afloat. I took a door to door sales job selling attic insulation that was mostly or fully rebated by the local utility companies. The pay was good, but the job itself difficult for me. I was still feeling some major mental and emotional effects of the chronic fatigue I had experienced the prior year. At the time, I thought I was ok and could make it on my own, but I was very young and quite immature. I really had no clue what I was doing. After a good two months of pay, the rebates changed, forcing our business to basically shut down, leaving me once again out of a job. I applied for many, many positions. The economy had been great in recent years, but was dead when I needed work the most. For the next several months, I lived off of the extreme generosity of friends and family. Finally, I had to resort to desperate measures to avoid eviction, homelessness, and starvation. My pride would not allow me to fall back on moving home and I was in a relationship, that, although was very volatile for my situation, I refused to end. With seemingly nowhere else to turn, I went to my bishop. Bishop Gray. He scrambled for me and helped me pay my rent. A conversation with my good friend Eef had me applying for food stamps. I did not want to rely on these means for long, but my job search brought me nothing.It is difficult to accurately describe how I felt at the time. One part of me knew that I had to get into a better situation, but the other part of me wanted to keep me down, to let me wallow in the absolute misery I was really in. Through the grace of a being greater than all, despite the shackles of misery that bound me and the crushing circumstances I let myself endure, month after month I still had my apartment.

A July firework stand provided some relief. It bought me a few month's rent while I tried to find sustainable work. Finally, at the end of the year, I was given a job at the Sundance resort. Unfortunately, I was ill prepared to return to the full time work force. My depressed attitude throughout the year had me beaten down. I was excited for my work and I tried very hard to perform my duties well, but I needed to feed from the positive energy of others, and in the kitchens at Sundance, I was completely on my own. Making matters worse, all my co-workers were Hispanic, and though they all spoke pretty good English (some were born here in America), they would speak in Spanish. It did not take long before I had no clue what was going on, things went South, and I was let go from my position.

I'm not sure exactly where it happened, but somewhere between getting that exciting Sundance job and having that opportunity taken from me, something clicked deep inside me. I began to be a little more self aware and realized that I was wasting my life. It was at this time that the story of last year's summer began. If you follow my blog, you are familiar with this story, if not, I will summarize. In April of last year I finally got a real job that would last. I was hired as a supervisor in the food department at Seven Peaks Water Park. A combination of things led to me turning my life around completely. That dating relationship that was hurting me was let go of, I read the Book of Mormon through, I paid off my debts and freed myself completely financially, coming off the food stamps and making my own payments on my housing. For the first time in a couple years, I was legitimately happy. Since that time, I admit that I have been far less than perfect in continuing in that level of happiness. I have been gainfully employed all year, though my financial planning and priorities have been in need of some improvement. I got back in school and have completed two successful semesters as a part-time student. Tomorrow, I come full circle and having moved out of my apartment now, I will move back to the resort to pick up where I kind of left off, except that this time, I plan on doing things right.

During these past 3 years, my apartment saw me through it all. No matter what kind of day, week, month, or year I had, each night, I went home to my apartment and to my cozy bed. My apartment saw me smile, laugh, frown, cry, shout for joy, shout in anger. It saw me dance, cook great recipes, establish lasting friendships, and it hosted many guests, ranging from home teachers to student athletes. My apartment was my friend and my apartment was my home. My refuge.

So long Apartment G, I will miss you.