Apologies in advance, as today’s post is a bit of a therapeutic rant for me. Hold on tight …
Things have been a bit tough lately. For anyone who lives outside of Ireland, at the moment things are a bit tough when it comes to rent and the cost of living here in the Republic. It’s actually getting to a point where – get this – it’s actually cheaper to buy a house or apartment than to rent one. I’m not talking a little bit cheaper. I’m talking exponentially. Rent is skyrocketing and so are stress levels, not to mention people’s mental well being. There are many people I know who are making the leap from renters to buyers because the cost is becoming that ridiculous.
I’ve mentioned before that I’d love for us to own a house. In the past year, this feeling has become unbearable. I’m an interior designer, DIYer and let’s face it, a blogger. My blog is supposed to be an online portfolio of what I am able to do. As a renter, there’s only so much you can design and DIY when living in someone elses house. There’s a lot of red tape. And what’s worse, as someone whose blog is kinda based around designing and DIYing, I can’t showcase and demonstrate my ideas and skills in a rental. Basically, I’m screaming into a pillow on a daily basis.
And now I’m being mildly tortured by the thought of buying [see first paragraph]. I’m hoping that if I kinda
dear diary about it here, it will stave off my fixation to run to one of the gate houses in the Phoenix Park with a fist full of money, knock on the door and
make it rain on the current owners [p.s. I want to live in one of the Phoenix Park gate houses. Badly. If you own one and are looking to sell, let. me. know].
I’ve lived in rented accommodation for a long time. It will be eleven consecutive years this year. That’s eleven years of living with with other people’s furniture. Eleven years of carefully dancing around other people design choices. Other people’s colour palettes. Other people’s uncomfortable and ugly couches with weird stains that I don’t want to think too much about. Other people’s fixtures and fittings. Eleven years of other people’s mattresses.
I’m supposed to be showing my design and DIY skills here on my blog and all I can really show is painting something a different colour. I want to DIY panels on every wall. I want to re-tile a bathroom. I want to install and repair real [reclaimed] wood floors. I want to choose fixtures and put them into place myself. I want to tare down walls and remake kitchen units. I want to source a neglected claw-foot tub and restore it. I want to upcycle a
piano into a kitchen island. I WANT TO BUY A COUCH THAT IS COMFORTABLE AND NOT UGLY. I want to etch glass. I want to make my own black grouting. I want a pantry full of pretty and recycled storage.
Having said all that, we’re not really in a position to buy a house. Not yet. To me, that seems like a really grown up thing to do. I mean, husband and I still stare blankly at each other at times and say things like “we’re married … that means we’re adults … ” I don’t even know if I’m adulting right. Not to be confused with adultery. Nope. Definitely not that.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the homes I’ve lived in. I am very grateful. And they’ve been great practice. I just feel I’m ready for a home of my own. I had a eureka moment last night where I said to myself, “
why not just do all those projects you’ve wanted to do to the apartment? Do them, and when the time comes, undo them.” So do [and subsequently undo] them I will.
This is my desperate attempt at finding a silver lining as a renter. I hope this will keep my buying urge at arms length for a little longer. I hope.
