Nothing marks the passing of time more precisely than the end of one’s rental lease. I’m desperate to move out of my shoebox into something 600sqf and above. I NEED SPACE. So I don’t have to constantly tidy after myself and the place would still look reasonably ok; so I don’t spend every week racking my brain for something for my helper to do in the 3 hours she has to spend at my place. I must be the only idiot that washes and changes her bed sheets every week, a far cry from student days when I used to do it once every semester. So in three days I can give notice to my landlord, begin house-hunting in ernest and hopefully in a month’s time I will blogging from a spacious apartment with lots of natural light.
Everyone’s asking why I don’t move in with the new dude. On this, I have this to say: every chick needs a roof over her head, not half a roof. Same applies to bank account.