the deets and wax inquisitiveness

My coffee cup, which my co-worker drew a house on to wish me luck in my apartment search. If only I were miniature-size and could move in.

One of the first things that occurred to me when I quit was that I would no longer have a regular paycheck. Which was fine and not a huge surprise. I was lying in bed, thinking about my finances, and decided that, yes, I could live on the cheap for a couple of months and maybe get some cheap-o jobs and I would be fine. Then I stood up, looked around my $1,000/month apartment, and quickly realized that a lack of a paycheck might soon become a bigger problem than I had anticipated.

Although it sounds crazy expensive, I actually consider my apartment to be a complete steal. Not only is it an amazing deal for the Upper West Side, but I had a free gym in the penthouse, an amazing roof deck, and a 24-hour doorman who was totally chill with me sneaking in a grill that I was not supposed to use on the aforementioned roof deck. But I was already struggling to pay for the place even with a consistent salary, and knew that the minute I quit my job, I would immediately have to let go of my place.

The second I put up the craigslist ad for my place, I got a slew of e-mails and inquiries. I couldn't keep track of all the people that were interested, and showed my apartment to at least 25 or more females, who were all smart, well-spoken, and successful, and all immediately let me know that they were very interested in the apartment and would be willing to move in as soon as possible. Lucky for me, my former roommates loved a girl named Talia, and I was able to move out of my apartment quickly.

This all sounds great, yes? However, although I have moved out of my apartment, I hadn't found a new one to move into. I moved out of my apartment almost two weeks ago, and I still haven't found a new place to live.

Saying goodbye to my old life and hello to homelessness.

Luckily, I have some excellent friends, who have offered me their sometimes comfortable, but always free, couches to sleep on in the meantime. I thought that my friends might be hesitant to let me live in their apartments rent-free for some undetermined period of time, but I've been surprised, and almost overwhelmed, with how supportive my friends have been about all my crazy life changes and their willingness to help me figure out my shit in the meantime. For the most part, the most vocal proponents of my move to vagabond-ness are my fellow teachers. Trying to talk me off the ledge, which was also surprising, were my parents. In a way, these opposing reactions sort of convinced me that I was making the right decision for the correct reasons.

My fellows teachers agreeing with me showed me that I wasn't making a rash decision. They have all felt the frustrations and struggles that I felt throughout my first year of teaching, and know that if those were the things that dictated my decision, that they could probably talk me out of it by reminding me that I'll get through it. But I think that they were able to see that this wasn't what I was looking to escape. Instead, I'm looking to escape a predetermined career path--to escape stability and find some nebulous 20-something experience that maybe doesn't exist, but hell I might as well try (by the way, did you read the New York Times article about being 20-something and a fuckup, because I hadn't? I swear that this was the first thing 90% of my friends said when I told them about what I was doing. Clearly all my friends are much smarter and well-read than I am. I also can't, after a bajillion people telling me I need to read it, claim that I've actually read the entire article. It's soooo long. Although I do enjoy the fact that all the pictures seem to have been taken with the Hiptamatic iPhone app because 20-somethings are just toooooo cool to have clear photos taken of them. Ergo, my homage to the NYT article in this post's pictures).

My parents, on the other hand, were the originals authors of, "What the hell are you doing teaching, you should quit your job immediately!" My mother spoke for the side of reason, pointing out that, "you don't even like children!" My father, on the other hand, spoke for tradition, and felt that at the ripe old age of 23, I should be getting married, staying at home, and producing droves of tiny Cuban children. However, I could hear my mother's jaw drop when I told her, especially when I prefaced the news with, "I did what you told me to do," which, apparently, she did not actually tell me to do. Eventually my mother came around, but I think her biggest worry was the lack of stability and assurance I would have in my life (ie - health insurance, which is fun to run around without!) which is sort of the point. After talking to my mom more about this, she began to see my point, and is cool with my decision, although she is still perpetually fearful that I will break all my limbs and be in medical debt for the rest of my life. Cross your fingers for me, for her sake.

My father...well, I haven't actually told him yet. I know that the minute he hears about this, he'll demand that I come back home and that there's no way I could possibly live in New York without a) a man, b) law school, or c) some silly ambition to help poor kids learn to read that he seems to believe I'll get over eventually. Since I have neither of those things (or at least his definition of them), he'll get into his head that I'm living a sinful life of debauchery and delinquency and that no man will ever want to marry me after that. Especially since I'm so old already and all.

Will I tell him? Perhaps. In the end, it's not like he can do anything about it. My relationship with my dad, though, hasn't been a great one, although it has been more positive the past couple of months. However, I think this is because we keep the subject light, and I specifically avoid certain subjects, like moving back to Miami or having a boyfriend or voting for Obama. Basically, I lie to him. Which is fine with me.

All in all, I know I made the right decision, partially because my friends and family quelled any doubts I had about the underlying reasons why I chose to quit. The first day of school came and went, and I remember turning to my friend, Terry, and telling him, "Yep...definitely glad I'm not at school."

Now to find an apartment...