Because it's close to the mountains. Because the bathroom is nice. Because the doors aren't hollow. Because of the gas stove.
There are so many reasons why I don't want to move out of this apartment at the end of this month.
We didn't expect that to be under consideration in our summer plans, but we just found out from the apartment office that our rent will be raised considerably if we renew our lease because of the sudden market demand for rental units. It seems there are people lining up to get into places like these now that the mortgage crisis is forcing homeowners to abandon their real estate. It figures.
We're getting a one-time discount on next month's rent as a concession for the construction noise we have to put up with for probably the next year (there's another set of units going up behind us). This is nowhere near what we were discounted when we first signed (for the same issue), but because there are fifteen potential lessees anxiously hoping to take our place, it's not really negotiable. Not that the noise is actually that bothersome, but hey, anything to save a little more.
D is pushing me to think about our looking into a smaller, cheaper apartment here for the next year so we can keep saving what we've been saving toward a downpayment on a home and, hopefully, some nice upgrades on it to boost its resale value. But how small are we going to have to go in order to make the move worthwhile? As it is, we're stuffed pretty tightly into this place (you've seen the closet). Any reduction in square footage is going to mean putting some things in storage somewhere -- which certainly won't be free.
Beyond that, there's the issue of building quality. The place we have is decently constructed and finished with newer appliances and fixtures. Last summer, we saw places that were much older and smaller, downright shoddy in their assembly -- and more expensive. Somehow I doubt they've resisted raising their rent rates either.
There's the option of taking on a roommate (say, a coworker of D's), which D has also suggested. This will also mean putting things in storage (a roommate will likely come with duplicate furniture). Add to this the awkwardness of having to share common space as a married couple with someone who will probably want to host video game nights and do the sorts of all-guy things that I'm really not inclined to take part in when I'm visiting on already too-short weekends or during holiday breaks. This arrangement is clearly suboptimal.
"But you'll hardly be here for most of the year anyway," D points out.
Yes, this is true. But each time in the past months of our separation that I've walked through the door into this space, it has been home. A haven at the end of a journey, a sanctuary where I can relax. Not just because it contains the familiar -- sounds, smells, belongings -- but also because it's occupied only by someone familiar. Someone I can wear rumply pajamas around, someone I'm so comfortable with that being asked to clean up my crap or asking him to do the same isn't awkward. Someone who understands why I prefer to work out in private. Someone whose daily routine is already melded and entwined with mine, so that the pas de deux we perform as we get ready for the day or retire for the night is second nature, even after my extended absence. I need the habit in our cohabitation. With a stranger in the mix, it's bound to change.
So if we are to stay here, it means the savings have to come from somewhere else. Call more, fly less? I'm willing to entertain this option; D is less enthusiastic. As it is, plane ticket prices have ballooned and probably won't come down in the near future.
Why am I going through with this master's program again? In the face of these new developments, I don't know if we can afford it anymore.
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