My Disease

I have a disease.  A mental illness for which there seems to be no treatment nor cure.  I am powerless when in it's grasp, as the adrenaline fills my body and my eyes glaze over, I lose all ability to think of anything except feeding my need, quenching my addiction.  I must have satisfaction, and I must have it NOW.

I will gaze through starry eyes and see potential where there is none.  I will see 20 year old carpet as if it were freshly installed berber.  I will find charm in a bathroom that's four foot square. I will lose all ability to measure by eye, and cheerfully chirp that there's more room than we could ever possibly need. 

That's right.  I'm a real estate addict. 

I've fought this urge most my adult life, but despite bankruptcy, house reposession, snakes in the back yard and nosy neighbors, I am unable to resist the sweet siren's song of a doorbell to call my own.  

I began looking for an apartment in earnest yesterday.  Dissected the newspaper, drove around for two hours calling out phone numbers, street names, and building management to my daughter as she dutifully scribbled on her pad.  I found what I thought was perfection, only to be told I wasn't disabled enough.  But I'm mentally iilllllll!!! You should let me iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnn!  Made a few phone calls this morning with very discouraging results, yet within ten minutes I had stumbled upon a two bedroom with a garage and a potential third room in the attic within five miles of my current home.  

Good news: I can drive Scarlett to school with NO problem until the end of the year.  Bad news:  we might be moving outside her middle school district.  If so, we'll be right on the line, and I might be able to press the issue of allowing her to attend John Adams if I drop her off at a bus stop in the district.  She hopefully would be going to a day care within John Adams district, so that might be a selling point as well. Another big plus about all this is the grade school AND the day care would remain on my normal route home. No backtracking to pick her up, no driving ten miles out of the way to keep her in J.A.

And attic AND a basement garage? Can you say "Stairs from hell?" Sure, I betcha can. Haven't  seen the place yet, but I bet I'll say it too.  Truth be told, I want stairs.  My weight gain and loss of fitness has me deeply concerned, and stairs are something I believe will help me.  Of course, moving furniture up stairs is such a cruel thing that I can barely bring myself to ask anyone to do so.  My stepfather is no longer able to do such things, and my uncles are getting pretty bad off too.  When I asked him, Brent said "Of COURSE I'll help you move!"  Because he knows that I know he's helped other friends in the past.  But move my heavy-ass furniture up stairs?  That's a whole other animal.  Fortunately the piano is off to greener pastures this week, so that won't be an issue. 

Also, no pets.  I have potential homes for both of the girls, and in a way it will be a relief.  Guilt will eat at me, but hopefully not for long. Because the blush of a new home will keep me distracted for a good two, three months.  

I hope it has a back porch.  *glows*

EDIT:  'partment one - TOO SMALL.

Coal

For some reason THIS ARTICLE makes me incredibly sad.  I guess it just makes me wonder what we've missed while we've been mining all this time.  I'm glad they found these magnificent specimens, but it puts a sort of longing in me, to see not only the fossils but to see what was actually growing there - the magnificent forest that existed beforehand.  You know, the lamest explanation I ever heard for fossilization was during a Sunday School class when I was in my early teens "God created an adult man and woman, what's to say he didn't create an "old" world?"  Fundamentalist Christians just couldn't explain away the existance of fossils and dinosaurs. Nor could they explain the difference in time lines.  At least not well enough to suit me.