You know that feeling when your chest is constricted and you can’t breathe and it feels like an 18-pound cat is sitting on top of you and you can’t move it? No? Just me?
For those who need a visual aid:
An 18-pound cat is sitting on my chest, and I can’t breathe.
Our apartment fell through.
We got this apartment locked down weeks ago; I felt great. Flights? Check. Place to live? Check. We were all set and I felt confident that we were well-situated for my arrival so I didn’t have to stress.
The apartment was huge – way bigger than we needed – but we got a great deal. It was a temporary rental (Frenchman doesn’t want to pick anything permanent without me there to see it, too) but it had everything we needed. Furnished, 2 bedrooms, with a desk/office, great location – perfect. The only caveat was that the woman was trying to sell the place, so we signed on monthly with the risk of having to leave sooner than expected.
Way sooner than expected.
She sold it, and we got an email this morning that part of the agreement is that she cannot rent it. Apparently this is kosher in France despite us having signed a contract already.
I arrive in just 2 weeks and we have nowhere to live. Juuuust great.
It was hard enough to find an apartment the first time around. There were a lot of things to consider: location, features, square footage (meterage), and all the tiny details to see whether we could see ourselves living there.
- Close to a metro stop
- Safe neighborhood
- Cats allowed
- Within our budget
- 2 bedrooms (preferably – for guests!)
- Workspace (I’m working remotely, indefinitely. I need a desk)
- Real shower (no open bathtub with a shower head laying down)
- All normal kitchen appliances
But, we had time to research and dig and find just the right place…
The apartment we had found had everything we needed. You’d be surprised how many listings we looked at that didn’t have an oven, or the second bedroom was through the first bedroom, so any guests would basically have to crawl over us to pee in the middle of the night. And I absolutely refuse to live in an apartment that doesn’t have a real shower. I 100% believe that I would have a complete nervous breakdown if, after a stressful or difficult day, I couldn’t just take a normal shower but instead struggle to hold the showerhead and soap myself and try not to soak the room. I could do it once, but every day?
And now we’re homeless and need to start all over again… with just 2 weeks’ notice to our move-in deadline.
Breathe in… breathe out… move the 18-pound cat.
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