I’m about having a stroke. I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much caffeine, but this house stuff is making me sick to my stomach. I mean, I have no reason to doubt that everything’s fine. It’s just that there’s so much to pull together, so much stuff I don’t know if I can put my hands on quickly. Or at all.
I’m a disorganized mess.
Mess, mess, mess.
Why doesn’t someone make a list of all the crap you’ll need?
Why, even if someone made that list and taped it to me, would I have procrastinated about bringing it all together until this very moment?
Why can I not more better that this have my shit together?
Why is that last sentence so clearly not in English and yet I can’t figure out how to fix it?
How, even if we buy a house, will we afford to move?
Or buy gas to get to the house?
I want to run around with my hands thrown up over my head-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggh!
I think I’m better.
Never tape a list to oneself.
a) It’s too easy to remove, and then your left looking at the hideous mixture of human dander and sebaceous stuck to the adhesive on the tape. It’s quite mesmerizing.
b) Staples work better, though in all honesty, the blood often smudges the ink.
Hope this was helpful.
Yeah, that’s why you have a lawyer: to make sure all the paperwork is done properly.
Get you some boxes. Get a packing gun. Get some bubblewrap. Get some bigass markers. Start packing up all your shit, and clearly label what is in those damn boxes. Throw a bunch of shit out before it even gets into those boxes.
When I was packing up, my brother happened to work at Kohl’s, so he saved all the best, sturdiest boxes for me. Perhaps the Butcher could get you some good boxes from where he works.
Places like Home Depot always have custom-mixed paints that people have returned for one reason or another, for cheap, and they are always just fine.
And then you bribe your friends to help you move, with the promise of free beer and pizzas. We, we are too old, so we got movers the last time, also it was 130 miles away.
And hook up the stereo first, that makes it all better.
Also, you can go to the Habitat for Humanity store over off 8th (if it hasn’t moved) and get all kinds of stuff (paint, etc) at really good prices.
It will all come together…. have faith.
You know about the stages of grief? Well, there are recognizable stages of buying a house, too; you are going through the frantically flailing around stage. It’s painful, but it can’t be skipped if you want to get real resolution (i.e. your name on the deed) when you’re through.
I have calmed down. In fact, in the elevator, I was singing a little song that went “I’m going to own a house. Maybe not this one, but some house.”
big second on throwing out lots of stuff. huge second on clearly labeling boxes with contents.
it’s been, what, two years since i moved into my house? maybe more? and i STILL haven’t unpacked all the damn boxes.
Oh, it’s a hair-pulling, nail-biting, brain-panicking adventure to buy a house.
And then there’s moving.
That’s a whole other beast. All the advice above is excellent.
It will happen and it will be amazing.
B, I have followed your house adventure with much interest and pangs of recognition… I’m going through the same thing (currently waiting to hear back about an offer I put in on a short sale property). Every day I wake up and tentatively examine my mental status… kind of like gingerly worrying a loose tooth with your tongue, all “What am I going to feel today? Elation? Anger? Mind-numbing panic?”
If you truly can’t find the bank statement, the nice teller at your bank ought to be able to print you one without too much trouble if you give him or her the right dates. Ask me how I know. ;-)
Good luck with the house. I’m rooting for you! We curly-haired single women of fabulousness DESERVE our own houses! Or at least condos!
(And lest you think I’m some lurking stalker, this is The Shill’s friend, I met you the weekend of her baby shower.)