This year has been a tide of never-ending bullshit, lapping at the shore of ohmyfuckinggod, can a bitch just get a break?

So, we imploded – the wife and I. The house was slowly broken down into tiny pieces which were then donated, dumped or packed up, and the house was sold to another gay couple (the irony), full of hope and starry-eyed about their new journey together.

The bitterness in my belly chortled festively upon seeing their names on the offer paperwork: Sophie & Sam. The agent told us they are two lovely girls looking to make their forever home, which, on one level, is adorable, but the ranty, post-apocalyptic ‘never get married’ wench that has taken up residence on my shoulder, couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that the universe simply swapped my wife and I out for newer versions.

Fast forward through months of angst and stress and awkward and crying and storage units and here I am, living with Thunderbolts. Rejoice! Adulting! With downsides.

Me, my cat, my 2 dogs and Thunderbolts, in a room in an old, cold house in an average part of suburbia. Average might even be a stretch to be honest – this is an area formerly known as the ghetto, a label that has recently only lifted because houses are insanely expensive in the whole region, making your average first home buyer expand into territories they can only just afford now (like here) but would never have dreamed of moving into 5 years ago (for fear of literal drive-by shootings and gang violence).

So here we are. Because I am self-employed and this economy does not value a self-starter, I cannot get a mortgage. In the unlikely event that I could get one (which would be in the event where I closed my business and got a proper job), I would need around $650 to $700k just to get a semi-modern, 3 bedroom house with a stamp of grass or dirt that passed as garden space for outdoor entertaining. The repayments on a mortgage of that size would be eye wateringly high, meaning I would need to be gainfully employed by someone other than myself for around $150k a year.

I was that person once. I used to earn stupid amounts of money – up to 200k in a good year – and I have nothing to show for it. I’m a fucking donkey.

Thunderbolts is not able to get a mortgage either.

So, we rent a room, here, for ‘the short term’, for $410 per week.

For reference, my mortgage payments were $440 a fortnight; our total mortgage was $880 a week. I cannot fathom how this is rational, or how this is the state of the economy for driving us into a place where I would accept, begrudingly or otherwise, paying $400 plus a week for renting one room.

Prior to today, we were paying $390 a week, but the expenses went up this evening because our landlord, who is also our flatmate, claims the expenses on this house (a house with no heating), is in excess of $360 a month. I am dubious, but here we are. Desperation does funny things to people.

I could rent a house – this seems logical, no? Yes! Except, not one single landlord will accept an animal in this city, much less three animals (plus the other animal who is currently being cared for at a family members house). 4 animals = equivalent to having rental leprosy.

In the face of obvious discrimination and leper-like status, we are still frantically applying and contacting landlords who have listings on property sites that suggest they might be agreeable to four animals and three adults moving in (I believe the kids would say lol right about now; I would like to yeet myself right off a fucking cliff).

Decisions must be made; including considering no longer having the animals. Thunderbolts wants no fucking part of that and got outrageously incensed that I would even suggest it. The ex-wife did the whole oh sad but I can’t help thing, which is decidedly expected although not entirely helpful. She has her apartment lifestyle in the city with her 0 animals and carefree living – “my hands are tied rn”. Mmhmm.

Back to the reason I came here:

Instead of doing anything productive about this, I am ranting to you – the void. The (maybe) one person who will stumble on this blog before quickly retreating, wondering if they were meant to see what they saw.

Universe: send me a goddamn lifeline here. If you can’t do that, then send me memes. I’m losing this battle.

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