Seven days from now we’re going to be homeowners.
I could type a book on it, but I think I’ve already said what I needed to say regarding how freaking awesome that’s going to feel. But now I’m starting to understand the dread, the ball in the pit of my stomach, calling, “You can’t go back nooooooooow!…” The huge responsibility.
Of course, this sinking feeling comes right on the heels of every single horrifying The Money Pit-esque thought that barges into my brain unannounced.
The siding is filled with mold and carpenter ants.
There are wild animals with rabies living in the crawlspace.
There’s a dead person hidden in the attic.
It’s freaking HAUNTED. (Seriously, how do you fix “haunted?”)
To the best of my knowledge, only the first one is even remotely plausible. Let’s hope, anyway. But what if? And what if it’s something we couldn’t foresee and can’t fix, like having CRAAAAZY neighbors? Or what if it really is haunted?! What if I move in and just plain hate it?
I should take a lesson from myself: “Worrying never helped anything” is something I’ve been saying to Husband a lot lately, who is a little on edge about job security (but unjustifiably so).
(But no, really, if it’s haunted I’m going to need a place to stay while it goes back on the market. Because there is no way in HELL I’m going to stay there.)
Another, more genuine issue that’s starting to make me panic is the loss of our home. We’ve put so much energy into this place, and even if it is a crappy little condo in a crappy little cookie-cutter neighborhood, it’s home. Now I have to pack up our things and put them in a new house and pretend like it’s all hunky-dory but it’s not going to feel comfortable for a long time. I hate the new house break-in period. 😦
All that aside, we really are excited about it. Only seven days! A week from now we are going to be walking through the house like we own it, because we will! (Well, sorta. After thirty years.)