The Wandering Jew

30 Jun

So, about two weeks our landlord announced that he’s planning to sell our apartment.  The apartment we moved into 4 months ago. The apartment which was finally feeling like home. Le sigh.  

We planned this move for about half a year. Having made the somewhat difficult decision to leave one of the best cities in the world (still ♥ you, Tel Aviv), we searched in this general area of the country for somewhere 1) affordable to rent, close to town (I haven’t quite got the hang of driving yet), with an extra room for guests. This little flat checked all the boxes and more – oh how I love you shiny new kitchen –  and even though it’s on the ground floor  and therefore 1) doesn’t get a lot of direct sunlight or 2) have a balcony/garden, we were really happy with it. Back in February, the landlord was adamant that he was looking for ‘serious’ people for a long-term stay, which really clinched it for me. Not long ago I calculated that in 11 years, I have moved as many times. 

Luckily we have found a new place to move to, although it doesn’t tick as many of those boxes. But the thought of packing up and moving again is exhausting. I start thinking about sorting and boxes and bubblewrap and brown tape and I get a little out of breath.  Let us not ponder the even more treacherous task of un-packing. ugh. Or the post-move evenings when you just want to make dinner and crash out on the couch, only to realise that the couch has been put in the bedroom & any hope of making dinner would involve locating the boxes labelled ‘kitchen’ and ‘food’. ugh.  

Knowing that as ‘renters’ we are like chess pieces that can be picked up and moved around at random is frustrating and – let’s admit it – somewhat humiliating. It’s not that I’m not counting my blessings. Even more than I love being married, I love living with my kooky husband, and I am grateful that we aren’t homeless, we aren’t jobless and we can afford to rent a roof over our heads.  And not just any roof, but an apartment in a pretty area of the country. I’m just tired. I’d like to plant my roots after four years of living here, I’d like some permanency, and to banish all cardboard boxes from the earth. Hail me and my suitcases, my bubblewrapped breakables and my boxes strangled with brown tape.  

Our next home?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe we’ll just move into this tree house? x

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Please leave a reply! Thanks - Dannii x

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