the future relocating of sarah

I found an apartment.

The day started off badly. I slept ill, woke up late, and had a headache from the first moment of waking. Still, M and I saw the cute teller at the bank (and he has no wedding ring, so there's hope) on our way to do my apartment-hunting (my roommate is so great to come with me), so it wasn't a horrible beginning.

I had three apartment-viewing appointments. The first apartment we couldn't find. It was like looking for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters; it wasn't there. The street number was 727. We found 725 and right next to it 729. Peeking furtively around corners for possible hidden numbers didn't help. But as the front lawn of 725 was decorated with Astroturf, gnomes, and vinyl-covered rusting chairs, we didn't feel it was too terrible a loss.

So after failing to locate the landlord on his cell phone, we skipped out and went on to Appointment Two. The neighborhood was nice and so was the landlady. The apartment, however, was miserable. We walked through the front door into a palpable wall of cigarette funk (Marianne's comment later was, "It smelled like a casino."); the place was tiny and the kitchen so small I had to scoot into it sideways. The carpeting was an awful poopish brown and the yellow plaster walls made the place dinkier and more oppressive than necessary. I could picture myself sitting on the couch at night crying.

We breaked for lunch at a fabulous Mexican restaurant, where I broke down in tears. (So stressed, so stressed...I have TWO WEEKS to move out.) I was crying on the phone to my mother when the people at the next table leaned over and asked Marianne if they knew me (yet again, I look familiar to anyone I meet), so after I got off the phone they asked me what I was eating because it looked good; then my ex-manager at Gymboree showed up and turned out to be the aunt of the woman who thought she knew me. They gave us apartment advice and we left for Number Three. From that comforting moment of serendipity I derived the truth that God loves me and felt somewhat better.

The neighborhood of Number Three was run-down but not terrifying. The landlord was waiting for me on the sidewalk. He was as super-nice in person as he had been on the phone. This rent was the cheapest of the apartments I had on today's list. It was also beautiful. A one-bedroom with an enormous kitchen, a generous living room, and an adorable bathroom. It has high ceilings, lots of windows, and new carpeting. There are two bolted entries. It's on the second floor. There is a yard which I share with the other tenants (who sound nice and not skeezy), where I can garden. Quiet is mandatory. There is a police officer, the mayor, and a lawyer living down the street. I can have a cat. I can pay the security deposit in installments.

I signed for it immediately. Asheigh at Ann Taylor has verified that it's an okay neighborhood. I am so excited.

I have a place to live that I can afford. And a job. The next two weeks are going to be a financial squeak, but dude, I have a place to live and and a job. It's like I'm a grown-up now.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. I am so blessed.