I saw my 33rd apartment today. Between July 23rd and August 25th, I saw 33 apartments and called over 50 places. I still don't have a place for September. FAIL.
Not all of them are horrible dumps where the landlord is looking to bully yet another student tenant, but fuck, it makes me feel like an octopus on a rock that must choose between staying ashore or going into the water. I want to do neither. Life of an octopus is rather a hard one, it seems. Oh, and dear landlords of Toronto, please stop rejecting me because I'm a student. If I was black or disabled or purple or had an extra finger, would you reject me for that? If you answered yes, plz throw yourselves into a pit of fire.
Where are my parents when I need them? I'd move back into my old room in a second. Oh right, they moved to Vancouver. I guess I'll be seeing you, West Coast.
(ETA: after all this effort, the slightest bit of hope remains that I will, indeed, find a place that I love before the time comes for me to pitch a tent in a bush.)