Whilst Dee and Jules play videogames downstairs, I sit in a beanbag in my makerspace and contemplate the various hardware projects that I would like to complete over the next couple of years.
Finding a new house is proving difficult.
We applied for a place on View Street, just a couple of blocks from our current place. Nice little three-bedroom, with a big enough yard, nice kitchen, good little deck outside — in short, perfect for our little clan. But by now you know where this is heading: we didn’t get it.
Gutted, as well as baffled: we offered more than the asking price, were available to move in immediately (like: take our money, give us the keys) and even suggested we would do a long-lease (up to 24 months, by which time I’m really hoping we can start looking to buy our own). We have an amazing reference etter from our current landlords, good steady jobs, links to the community. It should be a no brainer!
The agent came back with a question: Lucy, inside or outside dog? We replied truthfully (outside mostly, but sleeps inside) — I wonder if that was the decider?
This makes two house we’ve applied for, and none we’ve been offered. It actually feels like a job interview, which sucks. Real estate agents, scourge of our times, should not have the power to make me feel bad about my income, life, family, dog! It’s ridiculous. I hate it.
So it’s time to cast a wider net than just this little, comfortable inner-west suburb — but not too much wider, because I still want to be able to ride to work, and any more than a couple of kilometers and the buses may actually work out quicker. (Right now, it’s at least an hour door to door via bus, and somewhere around 30mins on the bike, plus the time needed for a shower. I’m certainly not a fast cyclist, but I could see myself become demotivated if it took much longer.)
Wish us luck.