It's been interesting to discuss selling our house with the public at large. Reactions run the gamut, from "Oh, that's exciting!" to people who have actually sold a home within the past few years; those poor souls have a haunted look that steals over their faces- unless you're one of sick few who actually enjoy this kind of thing. The one friend of mine who doesn't bear permanent damage from selling her house should be a realtor, though, I swear; she has the right skill set, from relentless encouragement in the face of my dour attitude of late to weirdly specific knowledge of things like earnest money and appraisals. If you're looking to move into central Iowa, let me know and I'll pressure Marsha some more into making a career change.
We're now at the point where we're actively looking at houses in CT. We began doing this online months ago, but found ourselves getting emotionally attached to homes that quickly sold, as the housing market out there seems to move as quickly as our market here.
The problem I'm grappling with now, or at least a part of it?
I am not a good house hunter.
Not in the same way as the people on that show, which I have seen all of three, maybe four times; I like people in general, but a handful of episodes was enough to make me believe that perhaps I should be praying for a humanity-cleansing asteroid rather than world peace. No, those people all seem to live in a fantasy world where you can ask for five bedrooms and a fireplace and a pool and a three car garage and a boat dock and at least ten acres for your specialty-bred tortoise.
I'm a gigantic pain to house hunt with because I seem to have house amnesia. Derek can recall minute details about nearly all the houses we toured ten years ago, when moving to Iowa, and will sometimes point out a house in Ames, saying, "Remember when we went through that house?" and I'm swiveling my head in all directions in bewilderment because as far as my brain is concerned, this is all new territory.
And now it's all happening again. We've been viewing a lot of houses online, and Derek will frequently ask about the house in Wethersfield or the house in Burlington, you know, the one with three bedrooms and a garage? While I will have indeed viewed these houses, looked at all their pictures, and read their descriptions in full, after all of two houses they start to run together in my head, and I feel like I'm operating with the mentality of a preschooler: "What about that one house? You know, the one I liked? Well, I don't know where it was, I just know I liked it!"
Thankfully Derek is used to translating my gibberish into English, as evidenced by my texts to him from the mechanic's place today, where he didn't bat an eye when I couldn't remember what the guy had said to me thirty seconds prior:
Next week's house hunting trip should be interesting, to say the least.
1. Lemons and lemon-flavored anything. Lemon bars, lemon basil pasta, my favorite cookie from my young childhood, Lemon Coolers, that were discontinued long ago. Not to worry, I have a new favorite: Ginger Lemon Cremes.
2. Hydrogen bonds.
3. The Wailin' Jennys.
4. Weird books at the library book sale.
5. My middle sister Kelli, who is celebrating her birthday today! When she was born I wanted to name her Amy. My grandma instead gave me a Cabbage Patch Kid preemie doll and I was instructed to name her Amy. Although I wouldn't have had the language for it at the time, at the age of three I remember feeling disgruntled and a little patronized that I was supposed to believe naming a doll was the same as naming a sister, but did as I was told. I still have both Amy and Kelli.