A new home. And the grueling agony of an impossible choice.

I spent 45 minutes at the supermarket on Sunday. I purchased enough items -- or perhaps more accurately, I purchased within enough items -- that I was able to check out at the express lane. And before you all whip out your abacuses (abacai?), I'll just tell you that that averages out to roughly one item every four minutes. Which might be ridiculously long for you, or any other normal person. But it's the norm for me. You see, that's my thing: when making a decision, big or small, I take my time. I deliberate, internally and/or externally. I consider all possibilities, all options, all perspectives, all scenarios. And yes, that includes deciding if I want my orange juice pulp-free but enriched with calcium or with only light pulp. Because God forbid they combine the two.*

*I just came up with this theory on the spot, and I'm sure that at least one of the five people that will read this post could debunk it, but it sounds right: people who like pulp-free OJ also like smooth peanut butter. And vice versa, those who like their OJ with pulp like chunky peanut butter. And yes, those in the latter group are much better people for it. This feels right.

So when the stakes are raised beyond my weekly shop, even by just a little bit, imagine how much I might agonize over each decision. Picking my profession? Choosing a college??? Moving to Australia???!?!? None of these decisions were made on a whim, believe me. The combinations and permutations run through my head ad nauseam until I come to a definitive conclusion.

Except when I don't.

And when I don't, I'm screwed. Which is exactly what I'm facing now. For I've just made a decision, and I have absolutely no conviction that it's the right one. Or that it isn't the right one.

As my fantastic landlord is moving into my current house in South Coogee with her lovely family, I'm being forced to move out. Which is fine, because I've wanted to get out of the place for the last month or two. So as I've mentioned in previous posts, I've been looking for a new place and saw a fantastic apartment to share the other week. Great location by the beach, lots of space with a large deck, barbecue and pool, and two guys who seemed pretty cool. So assuming they offered the place to me, I'd go there, right? Not necessarily. Because shortly afterwards some friends offered me a room in their house in Kensington. And how great would that be, right? Living with friends! But whereas the location (vis a vis the beach), amenities and upkeep of the first place was fantastic, my friends' place was, uhhhhh, not. And I've reached that point in my life where not only can I afford something that's at least relatively nice, but I actually want that.

So in anticipation of potentially being offered the first place, I struggled with the hypothetical decision of which place I should move into. Because this was like the yin and yang of housing options. Both good in their own right, but for completely different reasons.

In the end, I didn't have to choose between these two places, because the first place didn't pan out. Why didn't it pan out? Well. Well. Well? Well. I'm going to summon all of my energy to not go off on a 3,000-word tangential rant here, but it didn't pan out because the two guys in that place decided to give the room to someone else (which is fine)... for free (uhhhh, what?)... in exchange for that person's housekeeping services (uhhhhhh, WHAT??!??!).

(Biting lip...)

(Wanting to vent...)

(Must resist...)

(Resist...)

(RESIST...)

(Okay, I'm there. I think.)

This news aside, one of the two guys in that place was at least kind enough to pass my name onto another guy he works with who was also looking for a roommate. So we got in touch, and last Saturday, I had a look at his place in Maroubra. And it... is... awesome. Four hours later, I was in receipt of an offer to move in with him and the third roommate. And my hand, stripped of any hypothetical situations, was completely forced. Make a decision -- this place or my friends' place -- and make it by the end of the day. Uh oh.

I thought. I rethought. I over thought. I went on a walk. I even tried to reenact the Seinfeld running-through-flock-of-pigeons scene. I stopped at a pub for a contemplative beer. But for the life of me, I could not make a decision. So for what I believe is the first time in my life, I made a pro/con list. And they were as follows:

The Maroubra house
Pros
- Every amenity possible
- Clean
- View of ocean
- Near beach
Cons
- More expensive
- Will I get along with new housemates?
- Farther from city/work

The Kensington house
Pros
- Within three blocks of 15 friends
- Cheap
- Close to city/work
- Walking distance to restaurants/shops
Cons
- Squalor
- Will it be too over-the-top/chaotic?
- What happens past May?

And you know what? After creating this list, with four pros and three cons for each house (this was an absolute coincidence, by the way), I was even more lost. I looked at the list over and over and couldn't decide what I valued more: a beautiful house on the water with some guys I don't know or a POS house that's close to friends and the city. So what ultimately decided it, I think, was the last con for the Kensington house: what happens past May? For in May, my friends' house will be sold, and they don't know if the new owners will want to continue to rent it to them or not. And as I was out on Saturday night with these same friends, it was this uncertainty, contrasted by the absolute certainty of the Maroubra house, that guided me to my decision.

So as of this Sunday, this will be my new house.

Looks amazing, right? Well, it is. It's one of the nicest places I've ever lived in. And yet, as I said earlier, I have no conviction that the decision I made is the right one. Or that it isn't. So, you know, ask me in six months.