Moving On Up (But to the West Side)
Welp, I’ve done it. I’ve totally committed to starting my new life. I’ve regained my independence. I have moved (or, for the blasted SEO, I have completed moving).
Admittedly, this drastic step was not part of my original plan
…at least not for a good several months while I continued building up my savings. But dear old mother decided to throw a fit because I refused to consistently adhere to what any reasonable person would consider to be soul-crushing, irrational, and authoritarian demands.
Our feud reached such a fever pitch that, truly believing I was about to be kicked to the curb with nothing but a dinky, part-time, online job, about $3,000 to my name, and no support to fall back on, I experienced my first panic attack in the wee hours of a Saturday morning.
For anyone who has not had a panic attack, holy fuck, it’s terrifying
Not being able to breathe is one of the most awful experiences. And I couldn’t stop it. I tried to calm down using various self-assurances but I just kept thinking that I was totally alone. I mean, gees, when your own mother doesn’t like you or want you to be around, you feel pretty alone.
Up until that point, I’d always felt secure in the thought that if I did ever hit hard financial times, my parents would help me out. And so they did during the COVID pandemic. But that didn’t seem probable anymore as I sat slumped on the cold kitchen floor, gasping, cheeks dripping with tears.
I was a motherless child
On my own. No safety net. Just me, my dinky, part-time, online job, and $3,000. It was a dark night.
Fortunately, after significant emotional turmoil, I usually rally and find the determination, creativity, and level-headedness needed to solve whatever problem(s) caused the emotional turmoil to begin with.
It was no different the day after the panic attack. I rose somewhat rested, exercised, and told my mother I was looking for alternate living arrangements (which she was visibly thrilled about). I had fully accepted my sudden abandonment and was determined to make everything work out on my terms.
About a week later, I signed the lease to the most perfect apartment I could ever have hoped for
The process of finding said apartment, appealing to the landlords for it, and then finally officially claiming it happened so smoothly and perfectly that I can only admire it with wonder and dub it “a God thing”.
Ironically enough, my mother was the one to find the apartment online. When she showed it to me, I dismissed it immediately, thinking that it looked like a dark, weird, elongated shack. However, after searches for clean, affordable, possibly quiet, non-college housing in my desired city proved only slightly fruitful, I returned to the elongated shack.
And found to my surprise that I had severely misjudged the poor thing.
While it was quite long and log-like, the interior looked well kept, pleasantly arranged, and even somewhat updated. It seemed spacious and roomy enough for my limited needs. It had bonus amenities like a garage, near-unit laundry, and, dealbreaker of all dealbreakers, a dishwasher. It was affordable: the rent covered expenses from all but one utility, as well as lawn care, and could be covered by income from my part-time job. And to top it all off in some amazing twist of fate, it was just a few blocks away from the house in which I grew up.
It was almost eerily promising and I reserved a day to tour all the potential apartment suitors I’d found, with this one being the first appointment on the schedule.
Walking through the place, I knew I could find nothing better
At the end of the tour, I inquired about filling out an application. Of course, apartment rental applications require a report of monthly income and although my current earnings covered the rent, there wasn’t much left over-definitely none of that 2-3 times the rent crap.
So, as I anxiously scribbled down answers to the final few application questions, I thought a desperate prayer and rehearsed what I might say to convince the landlords of my financial reliability.
I stood up. I handed the application to one of the judges deciding my fate. I opened my mouth to explain my circumstances.
And the most eloquent, clear, persuasive words I could have uttered floated out of my mouth like butterflies out of a freaking rainbow.
In the next moment, the landlords said they’d love to have me rent the apartment.
I signed the lease and some other forms, handed over the deposit, and was set. Just like that.
It was fate.
With independence and separation on the horizon, my mother was vastly more tolerable around me, even joyful.
Surprisingly…
…I felt excitement and optimism bubbling up within me as the last month in my little hometown melted away.
Now, I am surrounded by chaotic rooms filled with box upon box of mysterious contents surround me…and I’m going to need to cook in the next day or two.
Let the job situation sort itself out later-I need to unpack!
