![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Battling depression and apartment hunting
I know they're not there to judge me. I know they're not doing a favor by giving me someplace to live. But I feel at this moment as though I am entering a basically adversarial relationship. Even if they know nothing but my smiling face, I'm used to landlords as people I have to be assertive with, in order to get my way; people that I worry about all month long as I go about trying to make my way with my employment.
And that's the most insignificant thing. Smiling leasing agents are not door-pounding, home-invading landlords, at least not yet. And by the way, I have NEVER had anyone have to pound on my door to demand money.
More significant are the apartments themselves. I'm still looking for that perfect bathtub. Mostly, I suspect that my dissatisfaction comes from the way there are hundreds of apartments in the complexes, but I see only one... do they all look like that? Are they better or worse? And why does the tub seem to be the worst looking thing, no matter what? I went into a model apartment, all furnished and houseplanted and accessorized, but the tub looked like someone might have had to brush a spider out of it that hour. It wasn't broken, it was just so lonely and neglected looking, even though it was clean. I went into a newly renovated apartment today. Actively spic-n-spanned in the last few days with new fixtures and everything, and there was mildew/black in the grout. Not on the surface, the grout itself blackening. I checked. The leasing agent said it needed "caulk." Pig's eye.
I think I've done a recent post on the horns of the money dilemma, so I won't repeat that here.
And finally, there is the application. What have I been doing? regrouping. My job and rental history are sketchy at best, some of it's gone with the wind. I really want hand-holding just to fill out one of the damned things. I'm trying to start a new life, not comb--AGAIN--through the debris of what I don't want to think about.
Today has been that kind of day, tho. I'm sitting in a cafe looking at art made about New Orleans, wondering if I should buy myself a little housewarming gift (last week, 50% off) and I tear up. A friend talks about how her new embryo is the size of a shrimp and I frown. I start to sing to myself to help myself feel better, and the jukebox of "stuff I can sing along to" random-shuffles "Homeward Bound," and I remember that I'll be alone, and how hard it was to be alone before, and how hard it was to turn it into a home. I could not do it alone. I am not at home alone. I may be FINE. I may even prefer my own company for hours or days. I don't need constant attention or maintenance. But a home, to me, is defined by family, by who is IN there. So I have pets, I feed birds, but knowing what I want and think it should be, ah damn. It's hard to believe.
Maybe it's JUST today. Maybe I'll take an extra pill. :(
And that's the most insignificant thing. Smiling leasing agents are not door-pounding, home-invading landlords, at least not yet. And by the way, I have NEVER had anyone have to pound on my door to demand money.
More significant are the apartments themselves. I'm still looking for that perfect bathtub. Mostly, I suspect that my dissatisfaction comes from the way there are hundreds of apartments in the complexes, but I see only one... do they all look like that? Are they better or worse? And why does the tub seem to be the worst looking thing, no matter what? I went into a model apartment, all furnished and houseplanted and accessorized, but the tub looked like someone might have had to brush a spider out of it that hour. It wasn't broken, it was just so lonely and neglected looking, even though it was clean. I went into a newly renovated apartment today. Actively spic-n-spanned in the last few days with new fixtures and everything, and there was mildew/black in the grout. Not on the surface, the grout itself blackening. I checked. The leasing agent said it needed "caulk." Pig's eye.
I think I've done a recent post on the horns of the money dilemma, so I won't repeat that here.
And finally, there is the application. What have I been doing? regrouping. My job and rental history are sketchy at best, some of it's gone with the wind. I really want hand-holding just to fill out one of the damned things. I'm trying to start a new life, not comb--AGAIN--through the debris of what I don't want to think about.
Today has been that kind of day, tho. I'm sitting in a cafe looking at art made about New Orleans, wondering if I should buy myself a little housewarming gift (last week, 50% off) and I tear up. A friend talks about how her new embryo is the size of a shrimp and I frown. I start to sing to myself to help myself feel better, and the jukebox of "stuff I can sing along to" random-shuffles "Homeward Bound," and I remember that I'll be alone, and how hard it was to be alone before, and how hard it was to turn it into a home. I could not do it alone. I am not at home alone. I may be FINE. I may even prefer my own company for hours or days. I don't need constant attention or maintenance. But a home, to me, is defined by family, by who is IN there. So I have pets, I feed birds, but knowing what I want and think it should be, ah damn. It's hard to believe.
Maybe it's JUST today. Maybe I'll take an extra pill. :(
curious
excited
amused