A room of one's own, for a price
I have a new place to live! An extra relief after seeing so many places that were either dirty/cramped/outdated/inconvenient or off the market by the time I arranged to see them. It is bigger than my current apartment and on the top floor of a standard Boston-area triple-decker house, which hopefully means it will be quiet, though costlier to heat and cool. It's got light and trees and a tiny study off the living room that has a built-in bookcase and will fit my vidding computer desk. It also ought to make my commute more straightforward; TBD. Of course, it is substantially more expensive, in part because it's been six years since I rented at market rate and in part because of the square footage and location.
I've been having more feelings about it than expected. Excitement, curiosity, regret, fear (money, the unknown), pride, guilt, etc. There are so many things to second-guess. I want to move already and tackle what needs to be tackled instead of worrying about what might need tackling. Then settle in and, please please please, be content. Fall is coming, and rumor has it the new street is a trick-or-treating hot spot, which would be amazing.
The whole unplanned and rapid process was stressful and lonely; would not recommend. I will miss my current apartment, imperfect as it is. However, friends are wonderful, offering sympathy and advice and boxes as well as couch space if things had come to that. My mom made me cry a few days ago when she called to say she was sending a check to cover the movers' fee, unasked-for. I've worked hard in the 15+ years since college to be independent and not ask anything of my parents-would not have rented this apartment and hired movers if I couldn't make the budget work-and this moment of being taken care of just sort of broke me, in the good way.
Another delicate moment on Friday, my birthday, when, at the office party we hold for every such occasion, my editor chose to cater with an ice cream treat I'd once told her my sister and I used to get when we were kids: Baskin Robbins clown cones. She drove several towns out of her way that day to the store that makes them. :,)
Now it is time to take a breath. Having booked it months and months ago, I have joined a handful of local friends in a rental house on Cape Cod; first time visiting there after almost 11 years (noncontinuous) of living in Boston. Nothing on the to-do list besides read, write, cook, sit by the shore. I went to a vidder friend's wedding on Saturday a few towns over from the rental, which was a backyard affair and really lovely. When we return, a week and a half of regular life. Then @fanworks. Then move-in.
If you have my old/current address and I haven't sent you the new one yet, feel free to ping me.
Originally posted at https://bironic.dreamwidth.org/389291.html, where there are
comments.
I've been having more feelings about it than expected. Excitement, curiosity, regret, fear (money, the unknown), pride, guilt, etc. There are so many things to second-guess. I want to move already and tackle what needs to be tackled instead of worrying about what might need tackling. Then settle in and, please please please, be content. Fall is coming, and rumor has it the new street is a trick-or-treating hot spot, which would be amazing.
The whole unplanned and rapid process was stressful and lonely; would not recommend. I will miss my current apartment, imperfect as it is. However, friends are wonderful, offering sympathy and advice and boxes as well as couch space if things had come to that. My mom made me cry a few days ago when she called to say she was sending a check to cover the movers' fee, unasked-for. I've worked hard in the 15+ years since college to be independent and not ask anything of my parents-would not have rented this apartment and hired movers if I couldn't make the budget work-and this moment of being taken care of just sort of broke me, in the good way.
Another delicate moment on Friday, my birthday, when, at the office party we hold for every such occasion, my editor chose to cater with an ice cream treat I'd once told her my sister and I used to get when we were kids: Baskin Robbins clown cones. She drove several towns out of her way that day to the store that makes them. :,)
Now it is time to take a breath. Having booked it months and months ago, I have joined a handful of local friends in a rental house on Cape Cod; first time visiting there after almost 11 years (noncontinuous) of living in Boston. Nothing on the to-do list besides read, write, cook, sit by the shore. I went to a vidder friend's wedding on Saturday a few towns over from the rental, which was a backyard affair and really lovely. When we return, a week and a half of regular life. Then @fanworks. Then move-in.
If you have my old/current address and I haven't sent you the new one yet, feel free to ping me.
Originally posted at https://bironic.dreamwidth.org/389291.html, where there are
comments.