take your crisis and shove it

So, I spent most of the week couch surfing... I just couldn't handle being at "home." Rather, at the place where I pay rent. I started apartment hunting on Thursday last week. I saw about seven places between Thursday night and Saturday afternoon... all of them were either priced right and crappy, or overpriced and pimptastic. I walked by one dilapadated-looking building, and huffed "that place looks sketchy, I'm not going in." My ninja friend convinced me to give it a shot (ack, gag, I'm one of those people that links to their friends), and I'm glad I did. I found an apartment (tentatively)!

It's a huge 3 1/2 (for those of you who don't speak Montrealish, that's a living room/kitchen with a separate bedroom and (duh) bathroom. Somehow, that's "three" rooms around here. And if you live in a one-room apartment with a closet and a bathroom, somehow, that's a 2 1/2. What's the "two," the closet? Arg. Anyway, I digress. I found an apartment! It's a huge apartment that overlooks a big park. There's a 12th floor terrace (perfect for watching the summer fireworks) and a small pool. I'm going to shell out the extra $60/month for indoor parking (oh yeah). It's a little more than I wanted to spend, but I think it's going to be a very good thing.
So, provided that they approve my application tomorrow, I'm going to be OK.

Then, I come "home" and look at all my piles and piles of shit and realize that I, again, am going to have to freakin' pack up and pay movers and move. And I get down and angry and come up with little vindictive plots to make roomie's life hell...
But then I realize that this is probably going to be the best thing for both of us. And although I think that she is a card-carrying citizen of the nation of suck for throwing this at me at 11:30 at night on a weeknight with no warning, in the end, I win.

Because I get a pool.