On Sunday night, I found out that the offer I'd made on a house the night before had been accepted. This is a house that I had seen online on Friday, seen in person on Saturday morning, and put an offer in on Saturday night. I was not expecting it to be accepted in the least. In fact, I saw a voicemail from my realtor and my exact thoughts were: "Man, they're rejecting me already?" I thought for sure I had at least until Wednesday night to pretend that someday I might own a home. But, despite my certainty of its ill-boding, I listened to the message, and to my surprise I heard (for the first time in my eight months of house searching), "Hi Rebekah, it's Jessica. I just got an email, and they've accepted your offer..."
I called my mom. I called my realtor. My dad called me. I told my roommate about it. I wanted to shout the news from the rooftops. I wanted to swing from a lamppost, like they do in musicals. But I didn't. I've become wary and unsure of good news over the years. You remember that book we read in high school by Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart? No, neither do I, but apparently the title made a strong impression on me. I've become gun shy in talking about things I'm excited or hopeful about because I get the distinct feeling that every time I do, things immediately go awry. Take, for instance, all of my romantic relationships.
I only told one coworker about the accepted offer yesterday. I don't know that my reluctance to share was so much paranoia as it was a deep and overwhelming anxiety about the financial, etc. obligations that come with home ownership. Yes, I know I wanted this at some point this year, but as of only a month ago, I'd finally resolved myself to rent for the rest of my single life (aka my whole life). The sudden change of plans threw me for a loop. The only reason I got any sleep Sunday night was because of the two Benadryl doses I took at 11:30 after 45 minutes of laying in bed trying not to notice how hard my heart was pounding. I mean pounding. Because let's remind ourselves of the information I shared in post 1 of this 30 day writing adventure: I am nearly out of liquid assets. Thanks to an expensive summer and a worthless number of shifts at the Gap, I have much less to my name than I did in early June. Even though my financial situation is not actually anywhere near dire, it feels like I'm teetering on the edge of the world. What if I can't feed myself? Or worse, what if I can't go to the Fuds volleyball tournament in Florida next month?
Don't worry, fellow Fudders, I'll be there. It might just be my luck that I haven't found a spot on a team, though. That's seventy more dollars to soothe my aching bank account.
I've been told over and over again that buying a house is stressful, but I had no idea it would cause so much grief and sleep deprivation. The last time I felt like this was when a guy I broke up with posted a picture of himself with a new, cute, more petite girlfriend on the same night that my brother announced an upcoming wedding and birth. Don't get me wrong, my sister in law is the shit, and I knew that even then. But I wasn't ready for quite so much change all at once.
All I can say is, thank God for Benadryl. I woke up Monday morning feeling groggy and almost hungover, but I'd at least gotten some sleep. Because I'm going to need sleep if I plan on surviving the next 6 weeks to closing and the renovations after that. Is it pay day yet?
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| What you are more likely to see at my house |
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