Well...

I'm starting to see the folly of taking a job in what was described in the Insider's Guide to the Jersey Shore as one of the most expensive rental communities in the nation. Apparently I had never explained to my friend Kevin about how Jim and I had to get a co-signer on our lease here (i.e., Jim's mother, which was pretty humiliating for someone who'd been living successfully on their own since age 18). Well, I did last night, and in outrage he said, "what on EARTH kind of place do you live in that you can't qualify for a rock-bottom apartment on a salary of over $40,000?"

In some ways, this relocation attempt has been more successful than my year in Montana, in that I can recognize when I'm unfairly comparing my new home to my old one. But, I drove out to Montana at age 22 with no skills, a useless liberal arts degree, and no prospects, and I still got an apartment. I lived in a walkable neighborhood and was able to get to my job at the University on public transportation - which was free for U of M employees - and I certainly didn't feel the isolation of being the only person driving around with a Kucinich bumper sticker (here, the most liberally decorated car might only have one "W" sticker instead of 17.)

A young person with no debt and no kids can live like a king in Cleveland for $40,000 - in Pittsburgh, you could even buy a pretty decent house for that price. I suppose I was dazzled by all that gold. I thought that maybe I'd be able to save up some fast cash pretty quick, which I did while Jim was living here, but now that he's moved to Queens it's just the same as when I lived in Cleveland Heights paying $685 a month on a salary of $26,000. As in, doable but with no real advantage.

Well, now I'm just yearning for life in a one-room apartment with a futon, a desk, a chair, and a bookshelf. Really, my quality of life has just gone downhill since those days. I've probably said this over and over but can't seem to figure out a plan of action.