Counting the weeks... again
When I started this blog almost four months ago, my intention was to look at the “ups, downs, and bills that come with the experience” of buying a new house; or, in my case, a first house. While I've done an excellent job of following the construction of my place, I haven't said too much about how I'm dealing with it all! So, these mid-week posts will try to accomplish just that. And what better place to start than the beginning.
It was way back on May 19th when I first posted about the beginning that wasn't: the three month delay. Although I still don't understand what caused the delay -- it might not have been a great summer, but it wasn't a rainy one! -- it was the timing of it all that really got to me. When you're really waiting for something to happen, a long weekend to arrive, or anything exciting like that, you start by counting the months... then the days... and finally the hours until the moment arrives. Problem with the delay was the timing: I'd started counting weeks.
Like so many things in life, you get to a “point of no return” where to stop after that point, or to learn that something isn't going to happen, becomes just that much harder to deal with. In late May, about eight weeks before my original closing date, I'd started seriously thinking about packing and moving and moving-in and what I'd need and what I had and about all the things I hadn't started to think about. When you've signed all the papers and such almost a year earlier, eight weeks seems like nothing.
And then boom -- I'm counting months again.
So, why bring this up now... start these more introspective entries with something that happened over three months ago? Simple: I've started counting weeks again. In just seven weeks I'll be moving. I've started thinking about this and that again; hell, I even bought a toaster-oven last week. Considering the progress that I've seen on-site, I'm fairly confident that there will be no more delays <knock on wood>, but you can never tell. In the meantime, I'm counting the days until this weekend arrives so I can get back out there to see my lot again.
It was way back on May 19th when I first posted about the beginning that wasn't: the three month delay. Although I still don't understand what caused the delay -- it might not have been a great summer, but it wasn't a rainy one! -- it was the timing of it all that really got to me. When you're really waiting for something to happen, a long weekend to arrive, or anything exciting like that, you start by counting the months... then the days... and finally the hours until the moment arrives. Problem with the delay was the timing: I'd started counting weeks.
Like so many things in life, you get to a “point of no return” where to stop after that point, or to learn that something isn't going to happen, becomes just that much harder to deal with. In late May, about eight weeks before my original closing date, I'd started seriously thinking about packing and moving and moving-in and what I'd need and what I had and about all the things I hadn't started to think about. When you've signed all the papers and such almost a year earlier, eight weeks seems like nothing.
And then boom -- I'm counting months again.
So, why bring this up now... start these more introspective entries with something that happened over three months ago? Simple: I've started counting weeks again. In just seven weeks I'll be moving. I've started thinking about this and that again; hell, I even bought a toaster-oven last week. Considering the progress that I've seen on-site, I'm fairly confident that there will be no more delays <knock on wood>, but you can never tell. In the meantime, I'm counting the days until this weekend arrives so I can get back out there to see my lot again.
