Whew!

So, I slept on it, although frankly, had no idea I was sleeping on it. But by the time I woke up this morning, I was convinced that I'd made a huge mistake actually accepting the Roach Motel apartment. I drove back there this morning when Mags and I went for our morning Starbucks, and I just felt like, ugh. I just, so, very do not want to come home to this place every day. Never mind the fumigating toxins, which worried me enough as it was. The back door didn't lock. The ceiling fan was falling down upstairs. They hadn't painted, they hadn't cleaned. They knew they had four extra days from the time I "took possession" to the time I actually showed up, and the place was awful. I walked in to my new home, closed the door, and killed a roach. They were crawling out of the bathroom ceiling. They were everywhere. The grounds were unkempt and falling apart. There was no parking. The apartment was smaller than the end unit I'd seen. I just completely hated the thought of actually having to live there. Ew.

And I thought, well, I can move in a year. But that place, was almost guaranteed I'd be moving in a year. And someone with the amount of stuff I have, you don't ask your friends anymore. It requires movers. Do you know how much that would cost me? A year after what it's costing me to move all my shit from the frozen Northeast? (whimper) And that's assuming the roaches - or the neighbors who slip in the back door that doesn't lock - don't just cart it off before then.

Plus, toxins. Bugs. Way too small. Would have to rent a bigger storage locker than I'd planned, which down here, isn't cheap. No fitness center. Which, okay, for a fat psychiatry resident, isn't a dealbreaker, but it's an added expense, joining a gym, and it's something I want. Plus, did I mention how much the presence and volume of the bugs bothered me?

Fuggedaboudit.

So, I found myself a different apartment. It's a lot farther away from the hospital. It's considerably more expensive. And I love it. It feels much more like home. It's in a fabulous town. There's a drive-through Starbucks almost next door. There's an allegedly great yarn store 6 minutes away. There's culture and stuff to do. It's been named one of the ten safest towns in the US and one of the five best places to live. And screw the commute; not like I'm not used to my Chicago madness anyway. I own an iPod. Plus I'll be so much happier when I get home.

It's made for a slightly insane day of cancelling, switching, and fussing, but wow do I feel better. And despite a morning strategy call to my lawyer (read: I called my best friend, who's an attorney, to freak out over the phone and say "do you think I'm crazy for wanting to get the hell out of this place?!?!!"), the manger of Casa Cucaracha was more than understanding and continued to be crazy helpful right up to the end. It really is a shame I decided it would be weird to give him my number...