Fueled by 48 ounces of sugar-free energy drinks (because when pouring a bunch of neon and potentially toxic chemicals into my body, I can't add sugar to that mix!) and the birthday tribute to Biggie Smalls I found on an Indiana radio station, I made it to Chicago by 1:40 a.m. on Friday morning, immediately following my Thursday night class.
Spending Memorial Day weekend with friends in Chicago was a great idea, but was made considerably less fun by the constant parade of potential apartments I needed to see, make notes on, and judge in fifteen minutes or less. In three days, I saw eighteen apartments, and fell in love with only one.
That one, naturally, was rented to the next person who saw it, because I was too afraid to commit to an application and a month's rent without seeing every single other apartment on my list. Dammit. Those people who enjoy going to open houses for apartments on Sunday mornings and comparing real estate listings are clearly the people who do not plan on moving any time soon, because it's a massive pain to look at places with the looming threat of having to move one's worldly possessions into a new space (will the bookcase fit onto this wall? can the bed fit in this room if I open the closet? why are there no outlets in the kitchen? does that unsupervised toddler come with the apartment?), and also to have to delicately explain to potential landlords that no, I don't exactly have employment yet, and no, I might not have a paying job, but please ignore that for the moment and accept my application for this apartment.
However, Ruth made amazing strawberry scones, so there's that. Perhaps I'll just live out of the Honda Civic with the cat and my cellphone plugged into the dashboard charger and my shoes in the trunk, and show up at Ruth and Tim's house each morning for brunch until they change the locks and ignore the buzzer.