“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”
Word, Charlie Dickens.
My last few weeks have been a rollercoaster of stratospheric highs and Earth’s-molten-core lows. In case you noticed and cared, this is why I’ve been pretty silent lately. The Hill universe (I was gonna say “world,” but I’m a big woman; I need a universe) remains in upheaval till further notice.
It all started when my best friend, she of the endless “OMG, is this your twin?!” inquiries, landed for a two-week visit. I hadn’t seen her since last October, so there went two weeks of solid bonding.
A day or so after my BFF* left, my pipes froze. Dr. Google told me to turn off the water valve because when they thawed, they might burst and gush water. LOL! What’s a water valve? So, yeah, my pipes burst. Water fountained. Six hundred dollars and many tears later, I now know how to shut off my water.
|The too-expensive dream home that never was.|
Meanwhile, my partner and I continued our hunt for the perfect house. (The pipes incident occurred during a house visit. Yep, had to cut that short.) The day after the pipes drama, my SO and I found our dream house. It was a huge, suburban, Midwestern cookie cutter of a house with a giant yard and a sizable carbon footprint. In other words, middle-class heaven. Oh, and it also had functioning pipes. Sure, it was $20K over our budget, but we vowed we would make it work. (Okay, let’s be honest: I quaked and wrung my hands while my partner soothed me and explained how we could swing it.) To top everything, I come from a desperately poor background and had to spend an evening examining some gentle feelings of inadequacy regarding middle-class housing. Finally, my partner and I took deep breaths and prepared to make an offer – and then discovered someone else had beaten us to it by mere hours.
Damn you, seller’s market.
|The house on which we actually made an offer.|
In this local market, houses are disappearing faster than social aid to indigent Americans. This is why I became house listing stalker extraordinaire. A few days later, I zeroed in on a listing that seemed perfect. Long story short, three days after it went on the market, my partner and I made an offer on it. Some wrinkles have arisen, but if we iron them out, in one month I’ll be the owner of another sexy Midwestern cookie cutter house with a yard. Plus, it's only four miles from my work.
Yay! Hooray! OMG! WTF?! Someone get me a paper bag and some chocolate! Yeah, the usually sedate Elle has now become a basket case. These days, I’ve no need for my morning coffee; I’m running on nervous energy alone, baby!
Then, yesterday – or maybe 314 years ago; it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes – I found out I’m a RONE Award nominee. Awesome news, right? In my next blog post, I’ll break it all down for you. For now, let’s revel in some sunlight. Feels warm and pretty un-terrifying, doesn’t it?
Well, I’m off to learn all about General Systems Theory so that I may share its grandness with my Sociological Theory class. It’s exactly as fun as it sounds.
This week I feel much closer to Dicken’s age of foolishness than wisdom.
* Yes, I am thirty-nine. Yes, I used “BFF.” In my above-mentioned universe, people of all ages are not only allowed but encouraged to use phrases like “BFF” and “adorbs.” Totes.