So I can announce, now, that I finally have an apartment.
And you guys, I am motherfucking BUYING it.
Four weeks ago I was biding my time, languishing away across town from poor Brandon, still waiting for a second rental to come up. If you had told me that I’d soon be buying property, I would have laughed in your face. And I would have been rude about it, too, because how dare you taunt me with something impossible.
But now, without getting into the details of how the idea came up, and how the market is at a most tempting low, and how my parents offered a crucial contribution, and how I realized that, holy dear fuck, I was going to pull it off (it had a lot to do with suddenly being in a real adult job, and how banks, apparently, really like that [so don't fire me just yet, nice job-providers]), yes, without getting into any of that, here I am. I have just bought a small apartment in East Vancouver, and very soon a second place nearby for Brandon (separate apartments until death do us part). There will be mortgages and taxes and strata fees, and I will yearn for the simple days of double-rent through a gauzy sunshine mist, but I will make it work, because these places will be mine.
I have always wanted to be one of those people who can keep their shit together no matter where they’re living, requiring no consistency or security. Those people, I’m certain, are way more awesome than I am. Just being stuck in limbo between my parents’ basement and Brandon’s place while we wait for a suite has me utterly paralyzed, as pathetic as that is, with no ability to make plans, or settle into work, or get on with life. Like I’m camped at the frozen edge of the Gobi desert, watching my dwindling supplies, speculating to myself about how the Jeep that was supposed to arrive six months ago for pickup probably hit a ditch and exploded. Not to get dramatic, or anything.
A strange side effect of knowing that I will soon have a home is that I am drawn here, suddenly, to Hchom. I want to tell you guys about the absurd pants that I wish I could get. And, oh DUDE, I came up with the best new category for posts: RecHCHOMendations (it’s true, my genius is a burden). The basic survival of a Marian seems to hinge upon staking out a space that is my own, in which I am unassailable. And Hchom is all about that. Fueled by it. Because the best way to feel unassailable, I always find, is to feel motherfucking cozy. And to be wearing a fierce jacket.
I’ll be moving at the end of April, with all sorts of plans to tear down tiles and cupboards and make a big, unnecessary mess (it will soon be mine, but it does not yet reflect my tastes). So posts might be rather DIY-interior-design themed while that’s going on. We shall see. In the meantime, the world is my tasty shucked and buttered oyster, and I needn’t bide my time idly for I have pants and jackets to whine about.