We found a house! It is very pretty. Also it is affordable, and has three bedrooms and two bathrooms like we hoped to find, and a back yard like we wanted, and it’s close to a library AND a public pool. (We knew we couldn’t afford a place with its OWN pool.)
Google Maps says with traffic at the time I need to go to work, it’ll be about a twenty minute drive, so that’s not bad.
The kitchen is large and open. The dining room/living room area is also large, and lovely. There are arches!
Actually, here. Have some pictures.
Now if you’ll excuse me–we’ve been moving since early this morning, and much of the day yesterday. I need to go fall over.
Lost my pterodactyl again. Last night I got home from work late and dove right into the homework. Got almost all of it done before the roomie called for me to pick her up from her evening class. Went and got her, grabbed some food, came home and fell over.
Completely forgot about 750words. I mean, I did think about it once, on the way home from work. I thought I could do all my homework, paste it into 750words, and voilá!
But I didn’t remember to do that.
On 750words, you earn badges for streaks of writing 750 words each day. The pterodactyl comes after two hundred days in a row of writing 750 words every single day. I’ve earned it three times, and lost it each time, before I could get beyond it to the pegasus (365 days.)
The first time I forgot was…I think it was Christmas day? That or the day after Christmas. But I’d had a fun day full of family and food and fun, and I realized at about fifteen minutes to midnight that I had very little time–and then I didn’t make it. The faster I tried to go the more my fingers tangled.
The second time, I’d just gotten the news of my neice being in a horrible car accident. I was deep in the internet, consoling myself with Tom Hiddleston while I awaited news, and I lost the 750words tab among the others.
The third time–well, at least I’m not losing it for the same reasons each time?
Anyway. This blog post comes to you as I attempt my streak once more, aiming for the pegasus and higher this time.
Onwads and upwards!
Just so you all know–
Stuff. It happens. I have not forgotten my blog, I have not forgotten the awesome people who make it fun. I just gotta take care of this stuff.
In the meantime, have a kitten.
I’m totally an adult. I’ve been paying my own rent, working my way, for more than twenty years. I’ve worked in the same challenging office for ten years. I’ve thoughtfully considered and bought cars. I’ve changed jobs. I’ve (partially) raised a child.
So why am I half-convinced that in less than a month I’ll be renting one specific house of the six we drove by to look at the outsides of last Sunday? I haven’t even seen the inside yet!
Partly it’s that we love the outside of the house. It’s white adobe-looking, with French doors (not the main front door) opening onto a small porch, and neat-looking windows. It’s on a large lot where the roomie can attempt gardening as she wishes to do, and there’s a storage shed where I can keep my bike (when I get a new one) without it being stolen (this time.) There are actual tree-sized trees in the back yard.
Thank you, Google Maps Street View
We love the area. I have checked, and it is not particularly close to a fire station, as this apartment is. So less sounds of sirens. It does not have a city bus stop in front of it, as the last house did. So less noise of airbrakes, and also hopefully fewer strangers standing in front of our house. It’s on a legitimate, actual small street, but close to a main street so getting to work and everywhere else would still be easy.
Partly, though, it’s just a desperate urgency to get out of this house. It’s so small. My room is so small. A big problem with small spaces is that it’s really hard to keep a small space neat. When you have to move two things to get to a third thing and then you don’t quite get around to putting stuff back because you’ll probably need that third thing again soon…dear lork my room is so depressingly cluttered right now.
I want space. I want a pantry, or a linen closet, or a front closet, maybe. I want to put the vacuum and the carpet steamer in a closet that isn’t my tiny bedroom closet. I want to have a place to put the extra sheets, and room to acquire some more towels. I want to set up my scanner and have my printer where I can actually reach it. I want electrical outlets–at least one!–in the bathroom. And can I please have my bedroom door be more than six inches from the bathroom door, three feet from the litterbox?
So yeah. I’m hopeful. I hate house-hunting, and after that comes moving. So I’m hoping this one is the one. I want violins, doves, rainbows…I just want to have my house. So I’ll go and see it, and if it’s halfway awesome, I’ll ask the gentleman if I can have it, please, without looking at any others. I just want this to be done.
Please, please, let it be awesome.
i’m doing my taxes ’cause I get money back. typing in all lower case because i aggravated my carpal tunnel (i think) and stretching for the shift key hurts. yes, i know i’m supposed to hit shift with the hand not typing a letter. i’ve never done it that way. shhh…
friday night and all i really want to do is sleep. there’s nothing wrong with that. it’s been a rough week. i need to recover. tomorrow and sunday will be full of editing, or so i hope.
yeah. onwards. sleep well, friends.
I was thinking about this, and really–I don’t blog right.
It’s rare for me to use headers to break up my text.
Remind readers that I have books right over here? Hardly ever do that, either. Never remember to ask readers to review on Goodreads or LibraryThing.
Somehow I don’t think to talk about Turtleduck Press and Kit Campbell’s latest book, Shards. Don’t tend to mention Erin Zarro’s Fey Touched either.
And I can’t remember the last time I pointed out that if you don’t want to buy from Amazon, you can get my ebooks in nearly any format from Smashwords.
Man. I’ve really got to work on that.
Oh, and I’m supposed to ask questions at the end to invite conversation.
Does that even work?
Life goes on…
I haven’t watched TV in a while so I don’t know if they still do it, but remember when a TV show would do a “very special episode” about something serious? Maybe one of the kids would have a brush with underage drinking, or mostly by luck evade a pedophile. Before the episode, the cast would talk about how it dealt with serious issues and they hoped it would start a dialogue in your household. And then in half an hour, or at most an hour, the Serious Issue was dealt with, survived, and the young one a little wiser. Except it would never be mentioned again.
Surely everyone will be astonished to learn that life is not like that.
My daughter has been back home almost a week, after being gone about five days. I feel like I’m under siege. The roommate is afraid to upset her lest she be the reason Hope takes off again. I hold my ground, but the result is an awful lot of her screaming at me while the roommate hides in corners. I watch her like a mom afraid of losing her heart again. She can’t have unsupervised computer time, she spends her days in the constant vigilance of at least one adult, and she can’t visit any friends.†
This state cannot last, but what can I do?
She says she’ll never do it again. We don’t believe her. She’s said a lot of things over the years that later changed to fit the whims of her moment. Her counselor wants to get her into something called MST, which is intensive, in-home, and involves me. He wants me to get her set up for respite care, so I can have a break from wondering if my daughter’s still safe. He wants me to take care of myself. He thinks moving is a great idea, that having more space will reduce stress and make things better.
Yeah, well, the house isn’t gonna move itself, now is it?
I love my daughter and I’ll do anything for her. This is just my little whine. I work full-time, I’m taking my fourth semester of Spanish, I’m trying to edit a book due in a week, I’m trying to raise a difficult fifteen-year-old, I’m trying to maintain a household, and I’m trying to find a house and get ready to move.
Taking care of myself is not a thing I am likely to get to.
And don’t tell me it’s important. I know it’s important. If I fall apart the whole thing goes down in flames. I KNOW.
I’d just like to know when the fuck I’m supposed to DO IT.
† She is allowed to have friends over. Oddly, none of her dear and so important to her that she’ll ditch class to help them and lie for them and they’ll lie for her when they KNOW WHERE SHE IS–not a one of her friends has found the time to visit her in an entire week, though I’m willing to pick them up and take them home. But just try pointing out to her the shallowness of a friendship like that…