Scratch that apartment thing. Apparently I don’t really have an apartment. Kelly and I paid for $10 days to stay at our apt., and the 10th day was yesterday. We were promised that the land lord was coming back this past weekend to fix all of the broken things in the apt and give us a contract. As of yesterday, he wasn’t picking up his phone and can’t be found. Now I’m realizing that we don’t actually have an apt., even though I have a super official piece of notebook paper that is signed by myself and the owner of the apartment.
I should have realized that we didn’t have an apartment all of these past 10 days, but it really was clear to me when I explained it to another teacher. Kelly and I only have one key, no contract, no internet, no showerhead, no door or gate key for the complex (which sometimes means waiting for another person going in to let us in.) If that didn’t make it clear enough, I really realized when I opened our door to two angry Chinese officials who were looking for our apartment ID cards and asking us to sign the census form. All the pantomiming in the world couldn’t get me out of that one. We had to call a friend to explain…what? That we don’t really live there? (Please excuse the cooked dinner on the table.)
Regardless of how I’ve just made the apartment sound, the worst part is I really loved that place. It was huge with giant windows and this awesome bubble/circle window room that Kelly turned into a meditation room. Worse than that is that I have to move AGAIN, which I feel like I’ve been doing since the end of March.
Send me vibes if you can in your sleep. What I’m telling myself is that it’s meant to be, like when I was bug-driven out of Clinton Street apt #2, but then got the chance to move in with Maggie (& Suzy).
Ps..I finally found internet radio (no Pandora in China!) and I’ve been jamming to “Retro 80’s & 90’s” in all my breaks. Don’t mind if I do, Barenaked Ladies!
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