Single, 40 and apartment-hunting

There’s good news all around me — two sets of friends who have been trying for years to conceive, just gave me their good news that they are expecting … a friend who unceremoniously got tossed from his job just landed a better one … a long-awaited divorce is coming through for another friend … and still another got a dream job.

The list goes on. And I haven’t found myself on it. But I hope with all this good momentum in the air, something will finally pan out.

I found the cutest apartment. Clean, modern and on the Intracoastal. But before I could hand them a check, someone else took it. I’m crushed, to say the least.

It wasn’t a dream apartment but given the nightmarish one I’m in, it was an upgrade.

A friend has come through to help me save the day. But inventory, the second it hits the market, comes off the market.

Apparently other people don’t have 100,000 riveting words to write/edit per week and can actually jump up and see places when they become available. Lucky them.

Florida isn’t like a normal area where people give two months’ notice and there is time for new people to see/claim the unit. Nope. Shit is empty for a minute, and therefore whoever has the cash in-hand fastest gets the unit.

I was telling mom, getting an apartment here is like being single and 40. You’ve waited this damn long for the perfect place or person — do you really have to start taking certain “must-haves” off the table in order to get SOMETHING you can live with?

And if you lower your standards, will what you find ever be enough?

Thank God for the ability to move again, or to break up with someone. But damn, the financial and emotional torture having the wrong one — or none at all — puts you through in the meantime …

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