Ah, books. All my pretty babies on their Ikea porn shelves…
It feels really odd sometimes to come into my own house and just… look at it. Okay, I’m waxing poetic about 1200 sq. ft, really, but when we got this place, we were settling, on many levels. I’ve wanted a house with a swimming pool my whole life. There is no way to justify that, with regard to any kind of an ecological footprint. We’re two people, living here alone, and just because I’m bathing suit/Lycra-ed-body phobic is really no reason to need an entire several thousand gallon pool to myself (On the other hand, my entire family used it when we had one in a house we rented, AND we had a huge garden, which surely counts for something – as you can see, the pool lust can’t-I-have-one debate is ongoing). Secondly, we made the choice to do with less so that only one of us had to work, and one of us could work on her dreams… and the dream is coming along. I don’t know if I’m allowed to post the mock-up of the cover of my book which will be out next summer, but (interested parties should let me know; I’ll send you an snap of the [dreadful] thing) suddenly it’s feeling like this was an okay choice after all.
And that’s a weird place for me; I think I’m most happy when I’m at least a little bit uncharitably discontented. To be truthful, all of this serenity and beauty is giving me a bit of a turn. I look around and say, “Okay… so we got the house where we want it… now what?
It’s not done: we have to figure out how to afford putting something basic and stupid in like, oh, wall insulation, and there’s still the matter of finding a tree that won’t overwhelm our postage-sized yard… but for the most part, we’re on the home stretch. Mac is ready to stretch out and settle in. And I’m… completely confused about what I’m meant to do now.
I suppose I’ll start another novel. That kind of work is never done.
Oooh, your bookshelves are purty.
Poor love, who can never rest. There just has to be something to strive for, doesn’t there? Sad, sad. Someday you’ll find yourself sitting on the porch enjoying yourself and won’t try to find something to do with your time. Someday. Not today, I recognize.
But we WILL enjoy this place once we’ve fixed it up. We will NOT be selling it or renting it out so we can move someplace else, right when we’ve gotten it perfect.
Fear not, though, we’ve still got to get the wall insulation in, the bathroom re-done, the electrics re-done, an air conditioner installed … and the list goes on, certainly. See, you’re looking for an end and are afraid of it coming, ’cause there won’t be anything to do. I’m looking for the end to come, and it seems soooo far away that it can’t come soon enough.
Want to trade?