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Wednesday, September 15, 2010

From the Window to the Wall

Life has formed a certain grade of chaos lately, one that I am embracing and trying to learn how to breathe through simultaneously. To begin, I promise you will not hear more whining about unemployment, because the heavens opened up and a job that I love to bits and pieces bestowed itself upon me (via an angel, Hello Stephanie!).

Do you like all my unbridled optimism in the face of my employment honeymoon period?

I know this sounds like I am straight up lying, but every meeting I sit in, every project I work on, I think [out loud occasionally, I'm the one happily muttering like The Crazy in my office] "this is so cool!" The work is so interesting, and studying the dynamics has totally made me view what I used to do in a different light. It's witnessing the other side of decisions, and it is really fascinating to watch and be a part of.

Not that I'm making any decisions here. Let's be realistic, you don't want The Crazy Muttering Girl making any weighty decisions. But I'm in the general vicinity of people who do, and still in a state of awe.

In addition to stating a new job, creating a new family schedule that is choreographed like a staccato ballet number, we decided to throw a wrench in things and sell our house. We were lucky and didn't even have to put it on the market, because our friend bought it from us. It was such a good experience, and we are supremely lucky to have had things go so well. Of course, that meant we had to deal with the total pain of packing and moving, but that is a universal truth and no one in their right mind enjoys that activity. We are slowly crawling out of from the boxes, and getting dressed in the morning has far few toe stubs on boxes and frantic questions of "where are my underwear?!?"

We moved into a bungalow home, The Gingerbread House, built in 1925, that has a porch, picket fence, and backyard. You can tell by the description that I am absolutely charmed by these novelties. Part of me has always wanted to live in a period home, and that part of me is learning about all of the good and less convenient aspects of that period. Like closet space. Holy Canoli. Andrew and I shared a sprawling walk-in closet before, where as now, we share a tiny, open cabinet closet. The physics of this just doesn't add up, no matter how creative your math.

This house is temporary while we undergo The Project Which Will Make Us Question Our Sanity: Home Building. Not just that, but custom home building. Which sounds fancy, but is really just the term used for people who are too damn Type A for their own good. Slowly we are figuring out why you don't see a whole lot of people in our age bracket taking on this grade of psycho. When you decide to do this kind of thing, you want to do your dream house. You want everything to be perfect, exactly the way you like it. Because why not? You get to do it YOUR WAY! It's the carte blanche of design. I'm not sure about others' taste, but exactly the way WE like it has far more dollar signs attached to it than we could have imagined.

Frankly, when you are our age, on average you haven't quite reached the financial bracket that affords you All You Ever Dreamed Of. So maybe, we should consider shelving the roof-top terrace back and Miami-style lounge idea until a later date. I know that sometimes you have to tighten your belt to afford special things, but the amount of time I am at peace with eating baloney sandwiches is somewhat less than eternity, so compromises must be made. Gradually we are realizing that this will not be The Dream House, but more like A House We Really Like and Will Learn From. Let's refer to it as Learning to Dream Within The Confines of Our Pocketbook, Chapter One.

It's still exciting for us, and I'm sure we'll be gaga once the sticks go up, but I will be happier when this initial planning and doing and re-doing numbers phase is behind us. I say that now of course, but just wait until we're in full blown construction. I foresee endless blogging rants, and I sincerely apologize in advance.

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