Good to be back after my one-week suspension for use of blogger-enhancing drugs...
It’s one of those insanely weird months in which I go from nothing happening to everything happening to nothing happening. The most recent set of drama is our Midnight Run attempt at selling our house in hopes of being able to buy what we have now declared our dream house.
The new place is closer to work, the Midget’s school and pretty much every other thing we do.
If you’ve ever sold a house, you know how this work: rent a storage unit, box up everything you can live without, shitcan everything that you don’t give a shit about and live like a spartan monk. Then, spend the next several months not touching, using or messing up anything, just in case someone wants to come and look at the house.
I have an ADD-addled child and a wife who has severe asthma. Thus, the cleaning, packing, carrying and cussing fell to me. It also didn’t help that we keep getting four-inch snowfalls every six minutes out here. Add that to previous travel and forensics judging commitments and you’ve got the makings of a brain-dead man (which some of you may view as being redundant).
We’re at the point where everything short of the garage is in some semblance of shape. The guy has someone coming over to look at the place tomorrow, so we’re hopeful. Of course, the rabbit keeps kicking her poo all over the floor, the Midget is trying to do art at the kitchen table and I’m facing a laundry mountain that would make Everest look small by comparison.
The funniest thing is that I’m usually the one who doesn’t want to change things up. My wife is always looking for travel or life-enrichment opportunities. I tend to find one thing I like and stick with it. If you’ve ever seen my wardrobe, you know how true that is.
In any case, I’m the twitch now, sweating it out as other people tour the house we desperately want. I can see where I’d put stuff and what I’d do with the small room off the back of the garage. I imaging my kid playing in the yard and having a snowball fight with the neighbor kids.
I have no idea why I’m feeling this way. I was once told by a sports collector I knew that nothing was so rare that something similar couldn’t be found somewhere else in short order. Still, I’ve locked in and I’m hoping that I have the right scented candles out, that the rabbit doesn’t grunt at the visitors and that someone sees our home and thinks, “This is perfect. We need this.”
It’s a strange twist in a strange month.
Back next week with something