Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

My financial situation needs no reprise, so let me start by saying that toward the end of August I was faced with something of a dilemma. My then current situation was bordering on the untenable, in that I had funds enough for September’s rent, but no more, and with no job on the horizon, despite countless applications and targeted cover letters I needed to make a decision. The details are for a future post ( See “Back On The Chain Gang”), but I secured a job in the nick of time and set about finding somewhere to live within my means. Opportunities were limited, and to cut a long story short, I ruled out a place in a complex not too far away on the basis that it would be a near run thing to make the rent every month. I also ruled out a place within a ten minute walk of my then current home on the basis that it was dark, half-buried and lacked a washer and dryer. I would have to drag my laundry to and from a shed in the next building to use coin-op machines and hope that they were available. Foxtrot Tango Sierra.

I found a place online that my sweetie also found, and set up an appointment. I’d pretty much made up my mind before seeing the unit, but as it was only five square feet smaller than where I was living, had an extra powder room downstairs and two parking spots within 75 feet of the door, I was pretty much sold before I stepped inside. The leasing agent was obviously desperate, and when I said I could move in in two days and had no pets,  she was so pleased I was surprised (and not a little disappointed) that she didn’t blow me on the spot. At $700 a month less than my current place, it was a no brainer.

I started moving my stuff in on the Saturday, as I’d already started boxing up books, etc. and was able to make three or four runs a day in the car. Of course, like last time ( See “The Boxer”), I chose to move in the middle of a heatwave. I spent the best part (worst part, surely?) of two weeks schlepping boxes, small appliances and furniture to my car in order to move them to my new place. Needless to say, I was pounding down pints of water at every opportunity, and yet it seemed to do me little good. It is easy to lose enthusiasm when you develop a sweat rash around your waist, and being coated in a layer of evapourating water becomes the norm. It’s a rather unpleasant experience to bend over in order to pick up a box and feel rivulets of sweat stream down your cheeks and off the end of your nose. Nevertheless, I managed to move all but the largest pieces of furniture unaided, and considered myself fortunate not to have suffered any permanent injuries.

I had lived in my old place for three years, and hardly anyone had given me the time of day, but miracle of miracles, once I started my beast of burden impression, every Chatty Kathy within range began asking “Oooh, are you moving?” Fuck off. Seriously, just fuck off. I started out pretty well organised, but by the end I was simply throwing things in boxes or directly into the back of the car. This was in part due to the distance involved, but also my desire to just GTF out of Dodge as soon as humanly possible.

It’s now been a few weeks since I moved in. I hung my art, the T.V. is on the wall thanks to the sterling assistance of my son and I’ve already had  more interaction with my  new neighbours than I had with my old ones in three years. The place was built in the Seventies, and it shows, but all in all, I’m pretty happy with my move. I’m beginning to settle into a routine, and the kids and my sweetie like the place . For the minute though, lacking sufficient bookshelf space, I had to  improvise, laying the banker boxes on their sides, setting them in their lids and stacking them three deep to provide impromptu shelving. My sweetie bemoaned their college dorm room appearance, but as I explained to her, being able to see my books brings me comfort in the same way that being able to see her books brings her comfort. It has made me realise though, that I need long, low bookcases rather than the tall, standard type to make best use of the space under the breakfast bar and also leave as much wall space as possible available for art.

In the weeks since I moved in I have experimented  with placement, cupboard organisation and making the best use of every cubic inch of space. You see, much as I moaned about my last place, it had more cupboard space in the kitchen than I needed, whereas my new place is woefully deficient in that department. The fridge is much smaller as well, making it an issue when I go shopping. In fact, I don’t so much walk into the kitchen as put it on, it being a galley, and in fact, narrower than most hallways. Mind you, it sure as hell beats living in the car.

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