The thing I have to keep remembering is that Seattle has given me very very good housing karma, in terms of renting, at least. Seattle doesn’t seem to want me to buy a house, of course, but Seattle seems to be okay with my finding good places to live with cheap rent.
When I moved here six years ago (six! Years!) I stayed with a very generous family I knew for about six weeks and then moved into a funny little basement room, where I spent most of grad school reading heavy readers full of poorly-copied social work articles from the seventies and withering away from lack of light but also enjoying stupidly low rent. My last quarter of school I got the opportunity to move into my old place, the one next door to Spike and Ziggy (remember them?), and while it wasn’t perfect and I’m glad I moved out when I did, that place did serve my needs nicely all three years I was there. And of course you know that the house I live in now has been wonderful for me. I found it just when I needed it and I still remember the joy I felt when I walked in the first day to meet the roommates and they were playing the Postal Service CD and how the rooms were full of light and art and plants, and how my bathroom-to-be had a tiny little Jacuzzi bathtub in it, and how there was a then-dormant cherry tree shading my bedroom window. That cherry tree is blossoming as we speak, and I have to leave in June.
Our lease is up and both my roommates want to get their own places and staying there would require not only getting two new strange roommates but also signing another year lease with a landlady of slight craziness. She hates us. We are three very nice girls who mow the lawn and take out the trash regularly and are sweet and nice and good and she treats us as though we are schizophrenic eighteen-year old frat boys, hacking up the hardwoods with axes and spraying beer directly onto the walls. She’s got all these Byzantine rules about how she rents the house and I’m not totally sure I can deal with it by myself, especially as the next year is going to be (potentially) a little unsettled for me. So clearly the only option is to move.
I am not happy about this. I have already begun to mourn this house, the hardwood floors and the arched doorways and the sense of peace that permeates the place even when there are craft projects and books and cacti in pot strewn about. And the neighborhood, oh my heavens, the neighborhood. The lake and the library and the chocolate store and the co-op right down the street, the easy freeway access, the ten minute direct bus to work. I’ve never lived in a neighborhood like that and I don’t want to sound melodramatic or anything but it really does break my heart a little to think of leaving it. I can’t imagine living in another shared house around there and I certainly can’t afford to get an apartment in the area and I can’t bear to think of leaving. Last night when I was talking to my mom about it, she said at least I have a couple of months to enjoy it while it lasts…and I said no, actually, it means I have a couple of months to \freak out about leaving. It’s just how I am.
In my ideal world I’d be able to figure out a way to make buying a lovely condo in a nice part of town sync up with my growing desire to see the Top Secret Plans work out, and I’d be able to make this happen by the end of the lease. And I wouldn’t have to worry about moving, and I’d be able to afford everything, and everything would just…work out somehow. Maybe it will one day. Maybe it will sometime soon. I’m going to hold my breath and cross my fingers and invoke my housing karma and pray I find myself in a good place once again.