Sunday, February 16, 2014

Housing Crisis

I have been living with my cousin Liz for over two years. As a whole, the living situation has been great. The house is close to where I used to work and it is in a community a very modest distance from where Lucy and Chet lived and not too terribly far from Mom and Dad’s and where I play soccer and all of the other places that I find myself going somewhat frequently. I’ve enjoyed spending so much time with Liz; we’re closer than we were before we lived together. As roommates, our neuroses are compatible and our beds are both always made. I’m glad that I can keep an eye on the house and the dog when she travels for work, which is quite frequently.

But it’s time for me to move out.

When I took my job last July, I knew that it meant that my time in Liz’s house was limited.

Although, truthfully, I’ve always felt like my time in Liz’s house was limited. She’s a relationship person. As in, she’s never not in a relationship and those relationships move quickly. As a result, I always felt that, eventually, some guy would be moving in (for a year, I thought that guy would be her ex-boyfriend Fluff) and I would be moving out. I would enjoy the living arrangements while I could.

When I started my job, I knew that the commute would get old. It requires a stretch on a highway that is forever a mess at rush hour when the weather is cooperative. In bad weather – which we have had plenty of this winter – it can be a nightmare. And it has been.

I’ve been gritting my teeth and putting up with it. It’s beyond my control and, on most days, I can show up whenever the hell I please. So I drink my coffee and listen to NPR and try not to look at the clock. It’s okay.

A few weeks ago, I got curious and plugged all of the pertinent information for my drive into a commute calculator. I don’t pay Liz a ton of money to live at her house, but I’m driving 20 miles each way. When you add the cost of my commute to what I’m paying in rent, I’m not really saving any money. And, on a day with a snowstorm during rush hour, I could spend 90 minutes getting to work.

Living here was convenient but it isn’t anymore. That’s the lesson I have learned this winter.

It is time to move out.

I am ready to move out and I am ready to do it soon. I would like to get it done early this spring: before I’m busy organizing summer season soccer, before the half-marathon I’m running, before The Coach comes home, before I have to dedicate entire weekends to planning my cousin Anna’s wedding shower, before a huge work project really gets rolling, before I start finalizing details for my trip to Brazil.

I would move next weekend if I could. That clearly isn’t happening but I am not above wishing that it could. My head is full of everything I want and need to do – believe me, this is only the beginning of what I’m going to write on this subject – and I wouldn’t mind skipping past all of it and hiring a few movers.

It has just started and I’m already absolutely done with the entire process. I just want to be home.

2 comments:

Sarah KosherLobster said...

Hire the movers. You'll thank me.

A said...

Oh hell yes. (Not this weekend but eventually, yes.) I think the best part about being in my 30s is feeling like I can and should hire someone else to deal with hauling around my shit.

 
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