More of the Same

Today I trudged all over Upper Manhattan with a broker (the lovely Miss Ashley's broker, in fact) looking for the impossible: an apartment that I could pretend to afford that was bigger than a shoebox.

We finally found one. And managed to talk the management company down to a monthly rent that is $50 higher than the absolute (and already slightly unattainable) maximum I had set for myself.

I took it.

With my parents as guarantors, because apparently I am 22 again instead of nearly 30.

I should know by the end of the day tomorrow whether or not the application has been accepted. From what I gathered from my last phone call with the broker, it's pretty much a go (it had better be, for the $300 in application/background-check fees I'm paying for them to check out me AND both of my parents)...

So why am I more stressed out than I was before?

Maybe it's because I have to move on the 20th, which is, ummm... a little over a week away.

Maybe it's because this new apartment is half the size of the one I have now, which means some serious downsizing of personal possessions.

Maybe it's because I'm still not entirely sure how I'm going to pay for it, and with my parents as guarantors I can't just run my credit into the ground and squat there if everything goes south, because they'll be responsible.

The universe really needs to throw me a financial bone here, or I'm going to wind up with one hell of an ulcer.