The house I might/will/could purchase is now officially 'in contract' as they say around here. The house inspection and sewer inspection are on Friday and my friend general contractor Jim and I will attend.
Meanwhile I am officially freaking out. I came home with a dozen boxes and spent an hour putting books in. I have a wicked spider bite on my leg that itches like crazy and now I'm in my bathrobe quilting and watching Benedict do his Sherlock thing.
I hate moving and I haven't moved in, count 'em, 13 years. Do you know how much crap I have? Books and art and art supplies and more books and papers and notebooks filled with poems and poetry books and piles of quilting fabric and furniture and shoes. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.
Tomorrow is another day. I'll wake up bright and early and begin again to sort through, pack, throw away, give to Goodwill, save for a garage sale, etc.
It's an old house, the one I'm buying. I'm afraid there is one outlet in every room, lathe and plaster walls and wonky windows. I'm thinking to adopt Jim as my future husband to fix, rearrange, build, sculpt and otherwise make habitable my habitation. I DID say I'd take a fixer house, all I could afford on my plan to live without a mortgage, get sensible ferfucksake, so I can go to Tuscany (tra-la) and semi-retire and tend roses, which my new house has.
It also has a formidable row of arbor vitae on the south side that are about 27 feet tall and totally blocking the south light. ----sigh----- I'm going to appeal to the better natures of my new neighbors to cut them down, trim them, something or else I'll go ballistic with a hedge trimmer and get arrested. The bedroom is a cave, it's so dark. Aside from that, it has a beamed ceiling, a fireplace (!!!!!), lovely old plank floors and a view of the mountains and a huge greenbelt. And I can walk to the light rail and get to downtown or to my old neighborhood for the farmer's market.
The katz are a problem. We're gonna have to have a talk.