I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, feeling crushed. Not a single cell in my body wanted to get out of bed.
I’d put everything I had into finding the right apartment in Brooklyn by August 1 when I needed to move and now all hope of making that happen had been dashed.
It was now July 29. The day before, I’d found out I didn’t get the apartment I had my heart set on. The landlord strung the application process along for a week just to choose someone else in the end. They’d received numerous applications and chose someone else.
(Getting an apartment in NYC is akin to putting an offer on a house and going through the process of applying for a loan).
Who’d have thought there would be so many people looking for apartments to move into during COVID?