The great landlord controversy of '013 has, in a sense, been solved. Said solution, however, makes me question the notion of trajectory.
When our landlords informed us that, as we had the gall to ask them to maintain their own property, we would need to find somewhere else to live, they also told us they would "work with us." What this mystery phrase seemed to really mean, though, is that we could stay a little bit longer...but just three weeks shy of when 95% of city rental properties became available. As nice as my sister's offer of three weeks in her guest room in Michigan was, though, being without a home of our own was not really desirable...so we limited the search to places immediately available.
The property search itself was...disheartening. We found one place I would actually feel comfortable raising my daughter; it was, however, almost $300 a month over what we have been paying in rent...and had no air conditioner...and had two other apartments on in the house.
Most of the other places, however, were true horror stories. One, for instance, was an old duplex $125 more a month than our current place. When I did my tour, there were hefty bags of trash in more rooms than not. There were piles of dirty laundry on the floor in more rooms than not. One bedroom had two half-full pizza boxes and a half-eaten platter of McDonald's pancakes. The toilets looked as if they had not been cleaned in a year or even flushed within the week. I was glad I didn't have my daughter with me that day, because frankly, I wouldn't want her to touch a millimeter of the place.
The apartment complex we chose is, by comparison, palatial. It's run by the same management company who ran our micro-house of old, so we know the maintenance will be good. It's mostly inhabited by the AARP set, so loud keggers are a little outside of the realm of possibility (although if there is one, I really hope they invite me). Plus they have an indoor pool, an outdoor pool, a fitness room, and a fenced-in kiddie play area where I can drop off my kid before I go hit the bars. Plus the staff is fascinated with my daughter from our last time doing business with them.
So it could be much worse. But, man, I hate that phrase. Yeah, I could be getting repeatedly kicked in the taint by angry Lithuanians. Not the point. Yeah, it could be worse. The problem is this: it is hard to see this as anything other than a step backward in my life.
I thought that, in regard to living arrangements, we were at least on a positive trajectory. I move from my folk's place in the insane state of Florida to my own place in the only moderately insane state of Ohio. I find a nice place in an apartment complex seemingly catering to transients (but in the nicest possible manner). I get hitched and move to a nice micro-house. We have a child and move to a nice suburban-esque house in the townie part of town. All positive moves.
But then our landlord suffers some sort of mental disconnect...and we find ourselves back in apartment living.
I immediately start wondering in what other ways will my life regress. Will I receive notice I have to resume work on my dissertation? Will they make me start taking classes again? Will I have to move back in with my parents? Regrow my heavy metal hair? Go back to work at the pizza place? Wear braces again?
The mind boggles...but when the very concept of trajectory disappears, who knows what past hells I will have to endure...for the second time, no less?
Just please don't make me re-experience teenage angst...it would clash with the angst in which I currently reside.