Condo, I’m leaving. Please don’t call.
Ok, it’s been a year but I thought you deserved an explanation.
Condo, I don’t want you to get emotional. I think we owe it to ourselves to handle this like adults.
A year ago I ran out on you. It was unsentimental; I straight up left. And I thought it was time I explained myself.
Now, if we’re being honest here — which we agreed we would be— I wasn’t that into you to begin with. I had one rule going in to finding a new house: no condos.
So you can imagine my hesitation.
But we got a good deal on rent, or as good of a deal as you’re ever going to get if you want to live in the epicentre of downtown. And our unit was on the ground floor. With gardens and a courtyard and a park across the road. You woo’d me. You made me forget you were a condo at all.
In fact, you were pretty fancy in my books. So adult. So respectable. With your hardwood floors. Granite countertops. High ceilings. Glass shower. And — gasp— laundry in my house. Finally, I didn’t have to cart all my laundry to my partner’s parent’s house to wash it. I mean, I still did. But I didn’t have to.
I painted you a cool grey. We made friends with the neighbours. My cat loved you (sorry about the scratches). We got a puppy.
You introduced me to your friends, like the neighbour condo in front of us with it’s funny triangular living room (remember how we laughed about that when we got home?) and the lady living there with THE EXACT SAME NAME AS ME <mind blown on the discovery of that one, a year in>. The friend I liked best of yours was the food court, attached to you. We visited food court a lot. Like, alotalot.
We had a good run. 4 years! Or was it 5?
But things started to unravel when you took my plants. With only one big window in the front, tucked under the oppressive shadow of the second-level courtyard, you were dark af. I pushed my plants up against the window but one by one, you took them all. That hurt.
At first I thought the darkness was ok. I slept more. Too much, even. My schedule went off the rails and at one point I was only going to bed because I could here the morning birds start to chirp. You were bumming me out.
You didn’t give me the space I needed. With your open-concept-bachelor-pad-design, there wasn’t anywhere to go where I couldn’t hear the movie my partner was watching. On a related note, there also were no doors to slam in an argument (besides the bathroom, but you’re hardly in a position of power standing in a tiny room where the cat and humans go to poo).
In the end, you really started to bug me. And by that I mean, bugs. You had bugs. I cried about it. You were hanging around food court too much. I couldn’t ask you to choose. So I left.
Now I’m with someone completely different. Houseboat.
He’s so romantic. We watch sunsets together. Move with the water. His duck friends are hil-arious! He doesn’t take me out of the marina, but I don’t mind too, too much.
I miss our old neighbourhood. But I’m much happier now.
I hope you understand.
Anyways, it’s been really nice talking with you but I have to go.
Me and houseboat are going to have breakfast on the bow.