I haven’t been feeling myself lately—though I probably should, as it’s bound to make me feel better—but ever since I got that 60-day notice to move out, I feel as though I’m treading the Pacific. For every two steps forward that I take, I get pushed back one and three-quarters.

From 1996 to 2001, I changed jobs every year, and now that I’ve been at a stable job for almost three years, I annually find myself in a new living space. I’m getting good at adapting and at packing/unpacking, but this is definitely not stellar for my state of mind and wallet; one is going empty, and the other is losing money.

To make me feel ever so much better about the situation, the condo owner’s agent called me up the day after I got the notice and asked about how “we” would “market” this condo—as though I’d have the time or the inclination to show the place to prospective buyers while I scrambled to find a place comparable to this one. Gee, shall I pretty up the place, paint the walls, and get the carpets cleaned first, or shall I take apart my furniture and leave all the packing boxes in view?

Well, at least I know why the owners wouldn’t sign another lease with me, even though I pay my rent early every month and begged for another lease.

Still, it bites. Hard. Especially now. For a year after I moved in, I didn’t have the right gate key—the key that opens the gates in and out of the complex, the gate to the pool, the gate to the laundry room, and the gate to the tennis courts. Thank God the gate to the laundry room was always open! But for a year, I called the property management about the key at least once or twice a month, maybe more, and they kept either dropping the ball or sending me the wrong key.

And NOW that I have the right key? But of course, it’s time to move.

On the bright side, I won’t have to deal with all those scary spider webs any more, and I don’t have to worry about the bathroom window, through which the people in the apartment next door can easily look/videotape/take pictures if they had a mind to do so. For a year and two months now, I’ve suspected that their hummingbird feeder is really an undercover video camera. I probably have an overactive imagination, but you never know, right?

So it must be all for the best that I move. Truly.

And if I keep repeating that, I’m bound to start believing it.

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