We sold our house. We technically have bought a new one. (Though the inspection of that one brought up all kinds of lovely issues the relocated seller may not be able to fix, and I feel like running in the other direction.) So I am surrounded by boxes full of stuff, boxes not yet full of stuff, and things that need to be put in boxes. I am boxed in and boxed out. Box! Boxety-box-box!
All work and no play makes Cranky something-something. Go crazy? Don't mind if I do! It happens. Moving sucks.
The good news? We got a good price on what has the potential to be a good home in a great neighborhood.
"You can always change an outdated kitchen," our agent said, as we stood looking at ugly, dark kitchen flooring in what would eventually be the house we chose, "but you can't change an updated house's location."
So we chose a house that has great potential after some fresh paint and fresh flooring. And some handyman work. And maybe a plumber.
It doesn't help my opinion of the house that every time we've been shown it except for the first time, when we both really liked it in spite of its flaws, it's been raining. Possibly because it's been raining in our part of the world for a solid month now (if you live in northern Kentucky, you know that this really and truly is not an exaggeration.) And it doesn't help that the house has been unoccupied for almost a year. It's dirrrrrty. The first month we live there, I will be like the little cleaner robot in WALL-E. My wheels are gonna spin, spin, spin and I am going to be in constant scrub mode until my little chip short-circuits and fries my hospital-corners brain.
It will either make my OCD ten times worse or cure me of it forever. Vegas odds are on the former.
What keeps my hair from turning white and keeps the nice young men in the clean white coats away is that the house shortens Jason's commute without lengthening mine, has a front porch that I will be able to put Cracker Barrel rocking chairs on, gives us enough bedrooms to have a place my mom can comfortably stay in the next time an artery gets clogged from too many cheese coneys and cigarettes, and puts us on a street that is decidedly free from members of the banging class. It's essentially a blank canvas right now.
A blank canvas in a really lovely museum.
It is a comfortable step up from the space we have now, even if the first year we're there will feel like a step down. It has good bones, as they say. Like a beautiful Hollywood actress who yellows her teeth, has bags added under her eyes, and dons an unflattering wig to play an Oscar-bait role, there's beauty under the dust and cosmetic issues.
Yep, we just bought Charlize Theron in Monster. (Oh, I jest. It's not that bad. Just sorta dark and mildly neglected. Like Kate Winslet in Little Children.)
Because I will be packing, cleaning, planning for cleaning, and having a series of emotional breakdowns in between, I am probably taking some time off from the blog. I know the two of you who read it will have a hard time living your lives, but it's the price we all pay to live in the money pit.
The big move will happen the last week of May, and I suspect I will have a lot to say when the dust settles. A lot to say because there will be a lot of dust.
Have a nice end-of-spring, readers. When I next write you, it will be from the one-seven instead of the one-eight. Holla. Edgewood, represent!