Up DatesSo, we sold grandma's house.
We finally had The Estate Chat.
We agreed. Well, I don't completely agree, but... when the lawyer refutes your arguments, what choice do you have (if you want to keep it out of court)? And so it is somewhat finished.
Oh, there are still checks to write, the deed to sign. But I have to address the other pressing issue first. The other house. It must be sold. No, not the one I "get"—the one I have the mortgage on that has sat vacant for three years and was pulled from the brink of foreclosure once and is now teetering there again because this Estate Cow Pucky took so Gol Durned long to finish up.
At least I have a semi-job. It's phone surveys. So if you're in the Northeast Ohio area, and someone calls you to do a brief healthcare study between the hours of 4-9 PM, it's probably me. Be kind. Even if you hang up on me, do it politely. Please.
Work time is interfering with my life, dudes.
I've had a revelation. I figured out how I wound up "here" rather than where I thought I'd be by now.
I didn't have concrete goals.
Because I had no concrete goals, I had nothing for anything to align with. So stuff just happened by default. I wasn't ON a self-defined path, I just sort of let the path define ME.
When I returned from my rock music pursuit in LA, I came home to "regroup". That meant return to base and start again. My idea was: save up money, get my musical moose pucky together, then go back armed and dangerous and rock the world.
My parents' idea of "regrouping" meant either: A—Get A Job or B—Go To School.
I chose B because it kept me from getting A Job (In Which I Might Be Trapped For Eternity And Have To Compromise My Rockin' Appearance) and I figured with a degree, I might be able to live better than most musicians while I pursued the dream. So I headed into academia.
Meanwhile, the 80s died, the 90s took over, music changed, and everything I dreamed of going back TO disappeared. When I finally emerged from beneath the textbooks and homework, I got my diploma and a rude awakening. There wasn't a music scene to go back to (that I liked, anyway). I was a bit lost.
Again, the parents said Get A Job. Well, I did, so I could save money, and prayed the music would return. I was also kind of in a relationship, so leaving wasn't as attractive at the time.
The minute I got the job, I moved, because living with my Mother was driving me IN. SANE.
Did I consider the consequences of renting an apartment, paying utilities, and buying my own food and gas?
NO. I just said, "OMG FINALLY I HAVE A WAY OUT TO FREEDOM" and bailed.
(Hey, wasn't the objective here to SAVE money? Uh, what part of "save money" did you miss when you up and moved out? Did you really think you could save money AND survive on your own on a $10/hour job?)
Then that job fell through, I bailed on the apartment, took a cheaper one despite the parental urging to come back home and regroup (again), and after a few fallow months and a handful of crap jobs, eventually got the next "real" job, where I stayed for the next few years.
And then I bought a house.
WHY OH WHY OH WHY DID I BUY A HOUSE?!?
Why? Because the nice townhouse in which I lived was next door to a family whom I discovered was not only selling heroin but participating in it, and I no longer felt safe. That, and everybody I knew was getting married, buying houses, and growing up. I felt left out, and jumped a few spaces on the game board of Life ("Pass Get Married, skip directly to Buy House") and sold my soul to the bank.
Y'know, I remember sitting in the Title Office with the pen poised above the line, and suddenly getting cold feet. Bigtime. Thinking, "I don't know if I really want to do this"—then thinking, "but I can't just walk out NOW, I mean, I'm at closing, I have the certified check ready, I mean... the movers are scheduled..."
So I signed, even though I wanted to bolt.
And here I am.
Shoulda listened to that instinct, instead of the boyfriend of the time and everyone else who told me it would be a "good investment".
Ha ha. HA HA HA HA HA.
I never, EVER, gave thought to the consequences of OWNING a house with a mortgage, or that it would be shackled to me until the day I could unload it, and that the blessing could become a burden and the obstacle to my dreams. I never thought about what if the market fell down, what if I lost my job, what if my parents died and the estate took three years to close and someone stole the pipes and insurance wouldn't fix it.
Nope. I always figured, if I ran into trouble, my parents will help me out, because they've always helped us. I never counted on them DYING on me. Especially dying on me before I'd gotten it figured out.
However, maybe I never would have tried to figure this all out if they were still alive. Maybe I'd be sitting in that house dawdling, twiddling my thumbs, goal-less, aimless, status quo. Maybe this is forcing me to man up and figure out what my goals really ARE now—be a rock star? Is that still valid? Well, maybe not so much. But there has to be SOME goal in here somewhere. Something that I really want to do, so badly that I can't stand myself until I'm in hot pursuit. Something that may be a little "unrealistic", but possible enough to make it worth a try.
And if I find that goal—no, WHEN I find it—maybe the stuff that hasn't found a place to fall into will suddenly begin to align, because it finally has something to align TO.
Oh, fer cryin' out loud. My Blogiversary was the 11th. I've been doing this for three years and I actually missed my own Blogiversary. Yahhhh. Now you know how my brain is lately.