Hello home. It’s nice to have one. It’s nice to have keys in my hand. I’m not homeless, although a week ago I could have been. Thank you dad for pulling a miracle out of a hat.
A month ago I was under the impression I was done with school. My mother convinced me to move out of my apartment- which really I couldn’t afford, and move in with her. At least just until I got a job. Problem was I hadn’t lived with her since I was 17. My life and her rules don’t mesh well. 24- 48 hours is all I can stand then I need space. Two weeks ago she kicked out my cat and started making demands (Pay for rent and food, but put all my stuff in storage.
Live in the guest room out of a suitcase.). Then we had a huge argument in which I realized that even though I love my mother I would rather live in my car. I would never be able to live with her. I called my father in a panic and cried.
Over the course of a week I had a few options. A co-worker offered me a spot to stay while I got back on my feet. None of my stuff would fit into my father’s apartment, but none the less he manned up and agreed to host me while we found a suitable location for me to live. It didn’t take him long to secure an apartment for me, considering he was a manager for a local apartment complex.
I didn’t get a choice of building. It was the Wings. Money is what landed me in my current place. I was offered a choice between a 2 bedroom on the second floor and a one bedroom on the ground floor. As is, I really can’t afford the one bedroom, with the two bedroom costing more it was completely out of the question. Yet, none of it really matters. The apartment has a roof. It has walls. It’s clean. There is enough space to put my stuff. It’s better than I could imagine and better than I deserve. Now all that matters is finding enough money to pay for the rent, the electricity, and for food.