ANCY title, yes, boring post… I need to move from where I am currently living. This is a pain in the arse, given that the PhD is in its final throes, and I could really do with having nothing else to think about for the next month. But instead, I have to think of moving. My housemates, a couple, have decided to move to Perth. Before the lease is up. Which leaves me in the difficult position of either getting in a) the very right people, who will leave me alone, given that I am trying to finish who b) also happen to own a fridge, couches and a dining room table, c) are not a couple coz that can prove difficult to live with, IME, d) are already easy to live with and who I don’t need to spend time bonding with,  e) won’t care if I disappear very soon, with the end of the lease… and f) are rich and also willing to pay the lion’s share of the rent (given that the divvying-up arrangements I have now reflect the aforementioned coupledom of my housemates). So, too difficult, particularly given that if any of these things fell through, it could leave me with $490 a week to pay on my own. Terrifying. Decisions needed to be made quickly. And so they were.

And now, we have to clean the house so that people can come and decide whether they want to live here. My room was a complete mess, and my desk still is. There’s just no way to make that many bits of paper look neat (except put them under the bed, but I retain my futon base, which makes such things rather difficult), and the books are sprouting torn-paper bookmarks in a rather unbecoming fashion. I have a strange reaction to these things: a friend pointed out that those who come and view the house are not going to be deciding on the basis of how tidy I kept it… and yet I have to vacuum, wipe down the dust (which was beyond the light dusting stage) and attempt to tidy my piles of books. Joy. My Nan would be… well, not proud, given that my cleanest is probably her dirtiest, but… something.

But the cost bit. I’m sure, if you’re living in Australia and not under a rock, you’ve heard about the massive upswing in the rental market. Houses are becoming more and more expensive. We know this. When the ad for our place went up, though, we did not expect the $110 price rise. Nor did we expect the real estate agent who was openly gleeful about the fact that they could “probably go higher,” and that people are “so desperate there’s just no worries about getting people in.” She also remarked on the fact that she didn’t want to hold inspections after working hours “because that would put [her] out.” Which, understandable, it’s crap and annoying. But on the other hand, when combined with the sickening enjoyment of the extraordinary power estate agents have over people, it’s just another sign of the disgustingness of this market. I had a guy come to the door today begging for an out-of-hours inspection, desperation in his eyes. I have sympathy first, and then massive anxiety for me… will I be the random stranger knocking on doors desperate for a place to lay my head?

Thus, at the beginning of April, I have to find a place to live, one I can afford (HA. HA. HA.) , don’t absolutely hate, and where I don’t need to go into get-to-know-you space (which is wonderful, lots of the time, but fucking time consuming). I may need to choose between paying double rent and paying twice for hiring a truck and moving myself. All of this, my friends, while I try to complete. Why oh why oh why did they invent a place such as Perth?!

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