On the move … again
Went out to dinner last night with the lovely realtor who took me around here and showed me apartments on that miserable March day that resulted in me finding the place I’m in now. Her sister joined us and we had a wild and crazy night on the town — those two are a riot. Yeah, I’m not used to going out and drinking and having fun. It was nice. We’re all in the same age group and they seem to want to adopt me.
P. actually had news for me, which was that she found me a new place to live that I will love. She remembered me saying that I was a writer and I needed inspiration, and she found me a condo on the Intracoastal Waterway about 10 miles from where I am now. So, actually she moved into this building herself and she’s trying to get everyone she knows to populate it, a la Melrose Place.
Apparently the person who owns these condos found out that she couldn’t sell them in this shitty market, so she’s renting them. And P. is in charge of renting them out. I was worried about my lousy credit score, but she said fuck it — this place is open to good people, regardless of what our credit reports say.
I’m locked into a year lease here, but I vaguely remember signing an addendum that said I can break the lease for a fee of $3,000. So, while it’s not that I have that kind of cash at my disposal — plus deposits and moving costs and whatnot — but P. said she’d try to get me three months free at the new place, to make up for it. All in all, it sounds like a good deal.
She’s having a paella night this weekend and wants me to come out and check out the place. Hell, she’s pretty much taken control of my social calendar for the rest of the year — she and her sister are from Peru and they insist I go with them in November — so perhaps it was fate that brought me to her and she will be the reason why I don’t just jump in the Atlantic just to escape the sheer exhaustion that haunts me.
When she met me, she said, “You seemed so blue. I could tell you were very sad.” Which, I was. I wasn’t sure about leaving my old life behind and I really took it as a sign that I could not find a soul who was willing to rent a place to me. Sure, I had a job and the movers were scheduled, but with homelessness so imminent, I really wondered WTF I was doing.
And for as worn-out as I am right now, I wonder whether moving and getting locked into another lease is just another in my series of ever-so-bright decisions. But having a water view and a pool on the Intracoastal? Doesn’t sound so bad.
I suppose I’ll have to drag the Over-Extended Houseguest along. Since I seem to have no choice in the matter and all. I wish I had enough money to pay everybody’s bills AND pay two separate rents. Well, I wish for not having to do all that, but since I must, I might as well dream big. It’s the only dreaming I find myself doing anymore.
My friend said her heart aches that I look even sadder than I did when we met. She was hoping I’d be happy and thriving by now. And she asked whether I’d been writing. I didn’t have the energy to laugh in her face.
I feel like my life is just a series of loveless marriages, and the only real “me” time is when I’m in my car. It’s pathetic and somewhat inescapable at present. I’ll take “looking sad” as a compliment, given the circumstances.
Maybe after the clusterfuck it will entail to move, I’ll love living on the water. I’ve enjoyed the six-minute commute, given the crazy hours, but maybe it will be good for me to have a view of something that’s not construction, although it seems a fitting metaphor for my life — orange cones and caution tape should be inside my head, too.
Well, this was just a thrilling post. I meant to share the great news that I can have my dream apartment after all. But when the same old crap seems to find its way onto the moving truck no matter how far I go, it’s hard to get too excited.
Woo.