August 06, 2002 | 9:22 PM

I love apartments when they�re vacant.

Empty.

Shiny white walls sans splotches or spots.

Gleaming hardwood floors unblemished by scuff marks or cigarette ashes.

Vacant cupboards.

Hollow closets.

All that potential just waiting to be acted upon.

A neutral, perfectly balanced space.

I was Buddha cross-legged on the floor. Free of restraints or constrictions or expectations.

The one ornament. The first piece of furniture.

It was a perfect moment.

I was Buddha.

And then I turned into Martha Stuart.

Where should my bed go? Curtains or not? Which pictures in what room? Where are the phone jacks? Where is the buzzer? I wonder if the toilet/shower/sink works?

And so on.

My home. My space. I can fill it with whatever I want. I am completely responsible for it.

I am stupified by that. Stupified and grateful and a little afraid.

And I just have two more words to say.