July the 16th, a date that filled me with joy and anticipation, the day I were to move out of a shared flat into my own little heaven once again, a day I’ve been eagerly waiting for months… a day that caused me sleepless nights and severe anxiety, though it was all worth it in the end.
Monday, 9th of July, the week before the big date…
Morning. Another sleepless night. I drag myself out of bed, get ready as fast as I possibly can and head to work. The weather has been glorious, sun shining, birds chirping, but my stress has transformed everything into a melancholic Van Gogh painting.
I find a wrapped bottle of something on my desk… What is it? Who is it from?
Denise brought me rose water from Cyprus!!! I can’t believe she remembered.
I open it there and then and wash my hands with it. I almost cried. Sweet childhood memories of hot summer days back home, washing my giagia Stella’s face with it, spraying it in my face ’cause I loved the smell so much.
For a moment I forget all my troubles. I wish Denise knew what that meant to me. I needed that brief time of calmness and joy in the sea of worries that’s been drowning me for the last couple of weeks. I’m so lucky to have such wonderful friends.
12:45pm. I just came back to work after the fourth viewing in the last two weeks. I think I liked this flat the most out of the rest. It’s small, but not a studio, it’s just opposite work, is a bit over budget but it will do. I can make it work.
I saw a recipe in Greek on the fridge, hah he is Greek…
It will finally put an end to this endless anxiety and constant worry whether I’d have somewhere to move to next Monday. But not just somewhere, somewhere I at least like.
The flats I’ve already seen were either too small, or too old, or no washing machine, or no oven (I have no idea how the person who lived there survived without an oven). I guess I can always compromise.
If I could make a decision…
The excruciating pain of my paralysing inability to make a decision… Should I go for a studio flat and try and save more money or should I pay a bit more and live somewhere nice for the first time ever after I broke up with Costas, rather than a tiny studio or an old building or living with a flatmate again? What’s most important? Location or space? What should I do? Compromise and try to save or go for comfort for once? Treat myself instead? But Chris is right, it may be better to wait and find a place I really like, a place that feels like home. What if I don’t find a place by next Monday, what if I end up on the street? What if am making the wrong decision? What is the meaning of life anyway? Aaaah
I haven’t slept well in weeks, I don’t have much of an appetite and I feel I may throw up any minute now.
I’m waiting for the agency to give me a call back and let me know whether the current tenant can move out of the flat by Monday, they reassured me that would probably be OK, but they have to check with him…
-We’ll let you know as soon as possible, in a couple of hours, he (the tenant) usually gets back to us quick.
2pm, 3pm, 4pm, 5pm. I haven’t heard back from them.
I could barely concentrate at work, but thankfully managed to keep on top.
I went home, had something small to eat and went to bed. I couldn’t do anything else.
What if the tenant can’t move out on the 16th? Should I go for one of the flats I’ve already seen? Maybe the larger studio I liked but in an ugly, dirty building? Should I stay with Jamie for a while instead until I find somewhere I really like? But what will I do with my stuff? Maybe just go for the small, tiny one that is available now?
Pleasee stop, everything will be OK, I’m sure the agent will call first thing in the morning and tell you everything will be fine, go to sleep. But what if?
I barely slept.
Lessons I learned after I turned 30 