For the last few days I’ve been staying at a friend’s place minding it while they’re away for an Easter holiday. It’s been a reasonably pleasant interlude. I’ve got the place to myself, have relative peace and quiet, and my pick of the TV. They’ll be back Thursday. The good news is that Friday I’ll finally be in my own joint.
Out of all the places I saw last week I applied for a couple and got nowhere. I put in a late application for another I couldn’t really afford and then forgot about it. Then about 4 o’clock on Thursday I got a call from the agent telling me the property was wine, but for a maximum lease duration of 9 months.
That actually suited me fine, but I didn’t tell them that. I said I’d think about it and get back to them. My worry is that I couldn’t afford the rent they were asking. Pay it and I’m short about $300 a month somewhere else. Then again, I couldn’t afford not getting a place either. So, WTF?
I rang back and agreed to take it on condition they knock $10/week off the rent. Not a lot, but something at least to ease my conscience. They agreed and assuming I cough up the money tomorrow I’ll be in there Friday.
In truth this is an immense moment. I’ll have to find away to afford it, but in a way it’s secondary to taking that next step. It’s massive for me, and it’s a massively symbolic moment too.
I’m excited now. It’s a house in Bentleigh East, not pretty, but not bad either. I can’t wait to get my stuff back – my clothes, my bed, my TV and stereo, even my kitchen stuff. It’ll be like Christmas.
Beyond I can reclaim some authority over my life, reliant no longer on anyone else for a bed and feed, able, finally, to live my own patterns of life – instead of having to mould myself to others.
I haven’t been happy for a long while. Now I’ve got a chance at it again.