I have lived in 19 different houses–11 of them after I turned 18. I have a tendency to fall in love with a place and then–Poof!–circumstances shift and suddenly I’m packing up and moving on to another soon to be home sweet home.
I can’t explain it, beyond that I have “commitment issues.” I’m sure a therapist would love to charge me the equivalent of what my liver would get on the black market to explain why I can’t stay put.
My friends and family are never surprised when I bail unexpectedly on something. When I stick it out, they wonder about my mental state. On the other hand, being someone who lies to herself frequently, I’m always shocked when I discover that I’m a world-class flake.
But the tides are changing and I seem to be settling down. Maybe I’ve finally found someone capable of domesticating my feral tendencies.
Even though things are good, sometimes I still get this adrenaline dump and want to bolt straight out of my tidy, happy life and make a big mess of things. I’m not dumb enough to act on the impulse, but it’s still there.
Sure, I spent the last decade playing musical chairs with relationships, houses and jobs while the rest of my generation was in school and building their resumes. And it’s put me way behind.
This is never more evident than when it comes to the whole buying a home fiasco plaguing the hubby and I. Pretty much everyone that we know in our age group has bought a home. Including my baby brother, which totally pisses me off.
Right now, we pay the mortgage on the property my late father-in-law left to his (second) wife when he (unexpectedly) passed away. The hubby and his sisters will get the property after my late father-in-law’s (second) wife dies. She’s in good health, so I’m thinking it could be a while.
We’ve thought about finding a way to buy the property from her so we don’t have to wait until we’re hunched over and gray before becoming property owners. Plus, we can’t have a pet as long as she owns the place and 30 years is a long time to go without canine companionship. But then again, why buy something you’ll eventually inherit?
So we’ve been looking around. This past week, my best friend called and told us about the perfect place. The problem is that in the past six months, lenders have been cracking down because of all the dip-shits that defaulted on their zero-down loans. Did I mention we’re a gagillion dollars in debt? But still, if it wasn’t for the dip-shits…
This weekend we’re going to a showing of the property where, according to our real estate agent, “people will probably be making offers right then and there.”
Wonderful! Not. In our financially sinking boat, pining over a competitive listing feels like being the fat kid in a 3,200-meter race.
“Think about it this way,” my best friend–who, coincidentally, is interested in the property next door to our listing–said during one of many frantic calls discussing real estate. “We’re both happy where we are and even if we don’t get the place this time there will be other opportunities.”
She’s right. But we’re still both going full blast casting Podagee/Puerto Rican spells pertaining to home-ownership.
However it happens.
Starr Begley always forgets to disclose that she’s had 36 jobs on her resume. MTW