Today Wes and I toured what I sincerely hope will be our home before Thanksgiving. It is a two bedroom town home with a horrible paint job, minuscule "patio", and tiny kitchen in a "mixed-income apartment community." But, the rent is affordable, it is in the right neighborhood, no one has been murdered there for at least a couple of years, and it has a dishwasher which would mean our marriage could actually survive.
Beyond that. . . . I just really need this to happen. As it is, we both spend a little over two hours on the road on days that we work and most of that driving is done in the unrelenting darkness of South Carolina. It also goes without saying that living with parents who are not one's own is a very special variety of hell wherein strangers become much too familiar with one's bathroom habits.
I'm not saying this place is "the one," but I am cautiously optimistic.
Actually what I'm saying is that there would have to be an actual, decomposing body for me to pass on another place in our price range. And this close to Halloween, my psyche might let me get away with passing even that off as an elaborate Halloween hoax.
So . . . .