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The past few days have been spent digging rocks, roots, and dirt clumps out of a spot near our driveway to make room for rocks and cement. Why, you ask? Because the universe decided it would be cute to infect my dad with a nice little weekend project idea. That's why. Anyway, I have blisters all over my hands, I'm still shaky from going a little apeshit with the pick ax, and I hate my life.
Needless to say, I will never. and I repeat never own my own home. For one, the idea of signing myself into a 30+ year mortgage literally makes me queasy, and two, yard work. I hate being hot, sweaty, pulling weeds, mowing the lawn, and the like. If I never have to touch another lawn mower again, it'll be far too soon. Although I probably shouldn't say never. If by some bizarre twist of fate I became a millionaire, I'd probably buy a home. A home equipped with a full staff. Apartment living is so much more ideal to me. Some might argue that you lose money in the long run. You might lose money by paying into something you'll never own, but there's also the distinct lack of a mortgage payment, keeping up with the entire thing all by yourself, and shelling out almost double for utilities.
Plus, living in an apartment allows you the freedom of choice. You can live in an apartment, buy an apartment, or move out all together if you need or want to. You can obviously do this being a homeowner as well, but the process is much more tedious and takes a lot longer. All I want is a modest two bedroom apartment, with lots of windows and wood floors. Is this too much to ask, universe? Oh, and maybe a nice cozy office job in the city to pay for said apartment. I wish things in life were as simple as they are in my head.