Election Season
Two years ago, I bought an apartment. It was an oddly terrifying prospect then, and it’s an oddly terrifying prospect now. I did not live the kind of life where property ownership was a possibility, and yet here I am. Occasionally I put Once in a Lifetime on the stereo and it feels horribly appropriate. I earn about thirty grand a year, on a good year. I shouldn’t own anything as large as an apartment. I should barely own the number of books that do. So I largely achieved home ownership by doing exactly what our current prime minister suggested when it comes to buying into the property market: I burrowed money from my parents. Technically, they offered the money. And then we fought for about a month over whether that was a viable thing, and how I’d pay it back, and whether I wanted to live the kind of life where I was tied to a particular piece of property,
