Is it some sort of Darwinian impulse that keeps me from sharing the details of the house I am trying desperately not to fall in love with? I am a mass of contradiction. I feel like shouting out about it, and at the same time, I harbor a Gollum-like tendency to curl up around the property, shield it from the gaze of the world, stroke it tenderly and hiss:
"My preciousssssss.....my owwwnnnnn."
It's not like there is tons of competition in the town we are moving to. It's not like flocks of people are going to suddenly in the next 2 months (two months!!! AHHHHHHH!) move en masse to Aroostook County, Maine.
So. What the hell is getting my panties in such a bunch?
Maybe some of it is information overload. We saw 12 houses in the space of 9 hours. Houses in town, houses in the country, houses with crystal chandeliers, houses with scary, homicidal dogs, houses with apple trees, houses surrounded with farmland and nary another house in sight. I've learned about dug wells; drilled wells; septic tanks; the best foundation for the area (poured concrete); the pros and cons of metal roofing, and fireplaces; the wonderfulness that is the pellet stove; flood plains; waste disposal; heat zoning; the drawbacks of forced air heating;
Hmm. fast pulse, shortness of breath...panic attack coming on...
It's just a fucking house.
I'm healthy, if neurotic. So is my husband. (Healthy I mean). My daughter is happily tearing apart her room while I type. Our lease here runs out in August. We have to move by the end of July. Breath. Great. I just burned the fuck out of my lip with my green tea which thanks to my blasted travel mug is still scalding hot after ten minutes. Ah pain. The head cleanser.
Things are slowly falling into place. Daily, something is done to get us closer to our goals. We were approved for a mortgage. That's good. Dr. Science is one test and some paperwork away from obtaining his Maine medical license. That is also good. We have our passports all ready for our trip to the Netherlands at the end of June for Great Oma's 90th birthday. We have tickets. This is good.
We have 17 days between the time we return and Dr. Science's first day of work in Maine to move. That's...bad. We haven't made an offer yet. Also bad.
For those of you not in the know, the whole "this is good/bad" thing comes from the years in medical school. Particularly, from working in the ED. Things get down to basics very quickly when you have a short time to get results. So looking over a patient, one says..."he's breathing...that's good. He doesn't have a pulse. That's bad". It reminds you where your priorities should lie.
Right now it is...make the fucking offer already.
And be vewy, vewy quiet...
Cross posted at Rock the Cradle .