The interview

Last Sunday, we, my partner and I, had an interview for co-op housing. A cheap apartment where you help with the maintenance. How cheap? About half the price one would expect to pay based on location and size.

This interview was extremely important for my partner. She had moved so often in her life, she really wanted something stable. Something affordable, so that she could start accumulating savings. And I wanted this for her.

The interview did not go well. It was what one would call a disaster. My answers made little sense, and even when they did, they weren't the answers they wanted to hear. I suspect, as well, that they were insulted by my poor French. A language I have difficulty with normally, but when anxious my vocabulary becomes elementary school level. Regardless, overall, they just didn't like me.

The loss of the apartment was, for my partner, the last straw. Watching everything she wants in life, stability, some insurance for the future, comfort, watching all of it disappear because I can't, because of my anxiety, because I can't engage in regular activities that everyone else can, it was too much. There was a few arguments before we broke up, but I think she knew it was over before the first one even began.

And now I'm back at my father's. He's still in the States; I suspect he'll be surprised to find me here.

That was Monday, from the moment they called to set up the Interview until I went to bed that night. It was Tuesday. It was Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. And it was Sunday, right up until I sat in their kitchen, answering their questions.