The Best and Worst of Times

“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.