I just bought a pillow and a wine opener.

I’m living in an air B and B

It’s all I can do in my reintegration to life in the US.

Since returning to the USA, I’ve found myself in car hell, apartment hell and sadly fighting the urge to leave every day. It took weeks to get a car as y’all know. Which I finally got. A shiny cherry red Mazda CX5.- so at least I’m mobile. My first commitment; was a loan.

But I have to find a place to live.  It’s painfully painfully true.

“You have to”, they said. “I have to, I know already,” says self with abject resignation. You’ve been here 90 days, so do something, you’re running out of time” says self.

So I have, or at least have given the appearance of it.

So what have I done besides drive myself crazy?

I’ve toured 18 apartment complexes, 4 four privately owned condos that looked like hell, and one fully furnished all-bills-paid condo in a nice, treed area. But looks are deceiving.

I met the middle-aged owner of said condo who at first, I thought was a realtor. She led me up to the 2nd-floor condo and showed me in.

It was a space that could in actuality be pretty nice, with its brick fireplace and large balcony overlooking the oak trees with its pots of Mexican planters filled with dead plants crowding out the balcony, but I digress.

But what did I see instead? A place furnished from grandma’s attic mixed with Egyptian and Mexican artwork and a huge sagging crushed velvet gold couch, two faded red overstuffed chairs so big the condo was dwarfed by their size. There was no clear path to the kitchen, which was walled with mirrors and had a huge glass-topped iron dining table and a mix of antique side shelving units that took what little space was left to sit at the table. I looked at her and said are you the realtor? “No, I’m the owner,” she said. Uh oh, I was not able to say what I thought, like holy moly Batman I’m in a time warp with ugly and ancient. It would be such a great place if……you got a dumpster and ran to IKEA. It was her stuff and I stifled my thoughts. Darn.

It was a decent deal though; $1500 all bills paid. Too bad I couldn’t stomach the furnishings ide have to sit on and navigate around to go to the kitchen. As yall know I’m already a geriatric case manager and I go into homes just like this. I can handle eclectic artwork, but not sinking gold velvet couches. It just can’t be good feng shui as my mother would have said.

So off to see more apartments, I went.

So my days at the Air B and B are numbered, like really numbered. As of today, I have 9 days. I’m feeling a lot of pressure. Do something, make a decision, and get on with your life. “All right already”, “after I have another glass of wine,” I tell that nagging know-it-all self who echos in my head.

So, I could have been settled by now actually.  Like four weeks ago. What’s wrong with her then? I see in the eyes of my friends and family when I mention I’m still in limbo between an air B and B and a tent.

Let me explain.

I found a small semi-cute condo that was $1300 with no fees, (yea! as apartments want your firstborn on top of the actual rent), no admin applications charges, nothing. They accepted the fact I just arrived from Spain with no US rent history and was only on the job a month, but with excellent credit, a good job, and cash for the rent. So I was approved pronto.

 I signed the lease, then 24 hours it ended.

Now yall know I sold everything and moved to Spain for two years and thought I would stay forever. And now I’m back with nothing but my clothes a sentimental coffee cup with a photo of my brother and I on our first road race some 14 years ago, and an embroidered shower curtain. But that’s another story.

The funny thing was, I was at a hotel the night of what I call my meltdown that ended my first permanent place to live since getting home.

So I was sent to a two-day training for my work two cities away, and delightfully checked myself into a Hilton for the night so I didn’t have to drive home to my friend’s house where I was staying and who had already asked “when are you moving out? Hence my urgency to get a place.

Anyway, I love hotels, I’m so happy when I’m in them as it makes me feel like I’m in another place, on vacation or whatever. With no commitment, no restrictions, just me. I lay there on the big comfy bed, after my training class, relaxed, happy, about to go to the bar for a drink and shoot the shit with whoever I might encounter. Just like when I’m traveling the world, alone, happy, ready to meet and greet and trade travel stories with a new stranger, a fellow traveler, the bartender.  

But then my happy bubble exploded with a ding from my phone.

 There it was:

A text from the realtor: “A list of companies to call to set up your electricity and Internet etc.”. 

Congratulations! She said. You can pick up the keys in two days.”

My middle froze. My eyes blinked.

Suddenly having to research and get utilities turned on, buy furniture, forks, knives, toilet paper; even a whisk for God’s sake suddenly freaked me out. I stared at my phone and froze. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to start crying. What am I doing here? is this what happens to former expats, now repats? We come home and freak out over this?

I remembered the last store I went into where I wandered around thinking of what I needed to start over.  The magnitude of buying literally everything one takes for granted at their fingertips made me go straight to the nearest restaurant and have a drink. I was overwhelmed, sad, and panicked all at the same time. I mean having that many emotions at once over buying forks. Really? Wtf? Who am I? What happened to the person everyone thought was always able to handle everything? She has left the f***ing building, that’s who.

I seized up in that hotel room and thought, “What am I doing? Why am I here? OMG, how can I do this? I have to buy everything and spend a mint repopulating a full apartment from forks to lightbulbs. And sign on the dotted line with utility providers that now all want deposits from me since “I have no account history over the past two years” and live the life I left; working like a dog, hope for a vacation, and try to be happy and grateful your alive.

Shoot me.

So I canceled the lease and booked an Air B and B because I couldn’t commit.  And here I am.

With only days left again to find a place to live.

Time for a drink.

So I narrowed down two apartments and made a dual decision. Which is not really a decision is it?

I’ve put in my application at two apartment complexes that are ok , big, with fireplaces and charge too much money for rent. Like $1500 a month, with no washer and dryer or covered parking. Everything the little condo had that I backed out of 5 weeks ago for much less money.

I hate myself now.

Figuring I may get hit with excessive fees and deposits or turned down completely I’ve paid $250 in application fees to apply to both of these apartments and see which one will take me or price me out of the game.

Then whichever one accepts me I guess I’ll take. so much for decision-making.

So to make a long story short, I went to Target today and wandered for 3 hours staring at items I’ll have to buy to live. I took many deep breaths to avoid the re-pat freeze up again and stayed away from the wine aisle.

I found a blow-up mattress and a fold-up camping chair and a flashlight.

Both of which had another purpose. I may end up in a tent if I don’t find a place to live soon, so not a bad purchase self said.

I then stopped in kitchen gadgets.

Who knew there was so much stuff for a damn kitchen anyway?

What will I need first?

Wine

“Get a wine opener,” self said

A pillow.

“For the blow-up mattress you’ll be sleeping on at the campground” self said sarcastically.

Find a place to live, they said.

Is it too late to find another Air B and B?

I wonder if the little condo is still available.

Where’s a hotel when you need one?

Somewhere in Texas suffering from repatriation.