A while ago I caught wind of two apartments for rent, both cheaper than my current one. For some time now I have been a bit worried about how quickly I seem to burn through cash, so I decided to check them out. The cheaper of the two was on Smocza, so in my current district, even closer to my parents' place, and deep within my comfort zone (across the street from my kindergarten, actually). Unfortunately it was somewhat cramped, hot, and I was warned about psychotic neighbors, all too eager to call the cops on you whenever they don't like the noise level.
The 2nd one was on Narbutta, a quiet, lovely street in Mokotow, the "Holy Grail District" for most Varsovians. By the time I got to see it, I really hoped it would be a dingy little shithole, because the more I thought about it, the more nightmarish the perspective of getting uprooted again seemed. Unfortunately, it was not. It kind of reminded me of Paris. Which I've never ever been to, but it did. Don't make me explain. It was tiny, but very cozy, overlooking a quiet courtyard, and stuff. And my friends live just down the street. The only downsides were the shower (kind of icky, to be honest), and the windows which were supposedly less than hermetic. Oh, and you had to take the rent in cash down to some guy at the French Institute (hey, maybe that's where the Paris part came from).
I spent 2 days agonizing over the issue and trying to make up my mind, before finally deciding to stay at my current place. My reasoning was, obviously, multi-layered and complex, but it all boils down to the fact that I've just grown too attached to it. Once I let the girl from Narbutta know I wouldn't be taking the apartment, I went into the kitchen to make myself some tea, and suddenly felt such a surge of joy and relief... I know it's just a simple psychological mechanism put in place by our alien overlords to make us content with our decisions, but nonetheless I think it was some sort of turning point. I like this place. I like the space, I like the clean bathroom, I like the giant kitchen table, and the crazy couch. I like my queen-sized bed, and my plum-coloured, bulletproof drapes. I don't like the fucking armchair, but at least I can bury it under my clothes, much like I used to when I lived with my parents.
So I guess I'm here to stay.
The 2nd one was on Narbutta, a quiet, lovely street in Mokotow, the "Holy Grail District" for most Varsovians. By the time I got to see it, I really hoped it would be a dingy little shithole, because the more I thought about it, the more nightmarish the perspective of getting uprooted again seemed. Unfortunately, it was not. It kind of reminded me of Paris. Which I've never ever been to, but it did. Don't make me explain. It was tiny, but very cozy, overlooking a quiet courtyard, and stuff. And my friends live just down the street. The only downsides were the shower (kind of icky, to be honest), and the windows which were supposedly less than hermetic. Oh, and you had to take the rent in cash down to some guy at the French Institute (hey, maybe that's where the Paris part came from).
I spent 2 days agonizing over the issue and trying to make up my mind, before finally deciding to stay at my current place. My reasoning was, obviously, multi-layered and complex, but it all boils down to the fact that I've just grown too attached to it. Once I let the girl from Narbutta know I wouldn't be taking the apartment, I went into the kitchen to make myself some tea, and suddenly felt such a surge of joy and relief... I know it's just a simple psychological mechanism put in place by our alien overlords to make us content with our decisions, but nonetheless I think it was some sort of turning point. I like this place. I like the space, I like the clean bathroom, I like the giant kitchen table, and the crazy couch. I like my queen-sized bed, and my plum-coloured, bulletproof drapes. I don't like the fucking armchair, but at least I can bury it under my clothes, much like I used to when I lived with my parents.
So I guess I'm here to stay.
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