Am I Complaining?

What-luck-MeansI’m generally a pretty easy-going person.  I try not to let the small stuff get to me, and as a rule I’m known as the girl who’s always smiling.  Sometimes the smile isn’t as genuine as I’d like it to be, but it’s up there, plastered on my face just the same… a less-than-heartfelt smile often beats having to explain to people that I’m not angry; it’s not my fault my resting face is misery personified.  Can’t help it!

These days, I’m just frustrated.  There’s no sugar coating it – I’m at my wit’s end.  Being a renter has it’s ups and downs, and as much as I would love to have my own forever home, it’s just not in the cards right now.  And however badly I want to stay where I am now, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to remain civil to landlords who constantly push the limits.  I want out.  Today.  Right now.

I have a problem.  Well… problems.  First, it seems I must have been someone really horrible in one of my past lives, because Karma seems to have it in for me in the worst way.  I’m not a complainer normally – it’s just that it’s hard not to feel sorry for yourself once in a while when absolutely nothing seems to be going your way.  It’s not that I want to have my cake and eat it too (although honestly, who doesn’t??)… I would just like to taste a few measly crumbs every once in a while.

House hunting in a renter’s market.  Sounds pretty simple right?  There are always houses going up for rent, all over the place.  Except where I live!  Sure, things come up – I see them… I don’t want them.  I wouldn’t say I’m ‘picky’ per say.  But we do have some criteria which may be bent a little, but not completely broken.  It has to be a full house – it has to be detached – it has to allow pets – it has to be within a certain budget – and it has to be in one of two towns.  I guess that’s asking too much.

They are so far and few between, that the last few that HAVE come up have been snatched up before I can even get a viewing.  And the ones that aren’t taken, I don’t want!  I need a touch of fairy dust, or a wave of my imaginary fairy godmother’s wand… a little bippity-boppity-boo or abracadabra… and I need it soon, or I’m afraid my miserable resting face might become a perma-fixture, and my well of optimism might start to run dry.   Sigh.

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