Love those Innertubes

Thank you all so much for your good wishes on the upcoming move! It means a lot to me. The above photo is one I took today. She doesn't look too shabby, from across the street. I made it the header for the house blog, after I realized that I didn't have a current picture of the house online.

Have engaged a glazier, who has replaced and reglazed numerous windows over the last few days. Thursday, the painting begins. Also have a call in to an all-around handyman person to do a little bit of cosmetic carpentry and repair.

Me? I cleaned out two, yes TWO! junk drawers today. Found things that have been lost for years. Don't act like it hasn't happened to you.

Sweetie has awakened for the last several nights to the 2 am Terrors, and I feel for him. What the fuck are we doing? This is insane! I can't cope. Sounds like my old refrain. But, ya know? It'll be fine. Better than fine. In six months, give or take, we'll be mostly settled in new digs. I will have new photos and new adventures to relate.  And? I'll have insurance! Hot Dawg!

What's not to like?

Show Me!

Back from a three-day trip to my soon-to-be new home state of Missouri. Barring some catastrophe, Sweetie has a good job with good benefits waiting for him, as soon as he gives his two week notice at current crappy job with crappy benefits. I won't say who the new job is with until things are firm, but it is huge. The job is maintenance mechanic at a warehouse distribution plant. Fewer than 60 employees, with a culture of respect and good behavior. His soon-to-be new boss took us out to lunch Friday, and dinner on Saturday. His wife told me that he comes home happy every evening; or at least not angry. I would so like for that to be the future for Sweetie. And he will have actual days off! I have the name of the new boss's real estate agent as he just moved out there in April, as well as a local bank. 

I have put the for-sale-by-owner sign in the front yard, and posted the house to craigslist. Also, intend to post more photos, history, and details about the house here.

Sweetie will most likely stay in a nearby motel until a house can be had, and we may rent at first, so that we are not rushed to buy just any place. However, it is a buyer's dream right now, with low interest rates and lots of places to choose from.

Missouri will be different. More flat than here, but a bit more prosperous. They take great pride in their interstate system and their local roads. We spent a day and a half just driving the back roads. I see another blog in the offing. Also? Alcohol sales seem to be almost 24/7. Yay! 

Anyway. I am cleaning and sorting and throwing shit away and spending time at the computer doing research and blogging. Posting here may be even more erratic than normal, but rest assured, I will let you all know what happens.

The Epic Journey begins.

So.

I asked my insurance agent for a recommendation for a real estate agent. I have never ever used one, and have known Doug since we moved here in 1994, and so when he named this person, I was ok with it. I gave her a call, set up an appointment, and in the meantime, I dithered and fretted.

What I expected from her? A list of What-the-Fuck-Do-I-Need-To-Do. In some sort of order, even. Do this, don't worry about that, etc. A Plan of Action, in other words. Help me!

What I got? Go ahead and move, get your crappy belongings and trash out of the place, and maybe, just maybe, I can sell your house.

Maybe not in so many words, but that was the impression that I got from her. This was after I told her the history of the house, how it was built, stories about the town, la la la.

I fired her last night, and I think she was relieved.

Today, in a fit of inspiration, I decided to make a blog about this house, and I'll try to sell it that way.

The Old Hurst House.

I have pictures and stories and real-ass history. And blogger is free.

Leaving tomorrow for Missouri, a place about an hour west of St. Louis. Job interview and pee-in-a-cup scheduled for 9 am CST. I am still dithering and fretting, but I have engaged a painter/glazier/drywaller in the nonce and have set him to work. Because in the last week, I have come up with my own What-the-Fuck-Do-I-Need-To-Do list.

Where's the bleach?

OMG

More than once, lately, I have said to Sweetie,"Things need to change." I am usually in tears when I say this.

So. 

Things are changing. I have contacted a real estate agent and will meet with her on Tuesday. 

Sweetie has a job for the taking in Missouri. I KNOOOOOOOW! (spoken a la Craig Ferguson.)

However. Whether he takes said job or not, we are moving within 6 months. I so much need a smaller house. Sweetie so much wants me to be around smarter people. 

Two things that I have told him lately seem to have made an impression. One is that we are one illness or one accident away from bankruptcy, as I am not insured, healthwise. Also, I will be almost 65 in a mere 11 years. Both of those items shocked him, yet it used to be he that could see the Big Picture. (Bless him for not realizing how ancient I almost am.)

There has been a job offer, to the west of here. Apparently, the job is his if he wants it and we care to move. We will go west to investigate next weekend. Thank goodness for the innertubes, which allows me to check out home prices, grocery stores, drug stores, etc.

So. I am making plans to move, no matter what. We will either be west or east of here in six months. 

Excuse me while I go and comtemplate drinking bleach.

2:20 minutes of clouds, wind and rain

Oh, my holy trousers.

Stephen Fry reads from his memoir on BBC Radio 4. I particularly liked the bit about a fax machine and Stephen Sondheim. Hurry, the links expire in a week.

Ain't no use.

So. 

My 35th high school reunion came and went last weekend, and I didn't attend. I had decided to go, at one point. It would have been great to see this, that, or another person after all these years. Then it became apparent that, out of a class of 500, maybe 25 people were attending. And these people were not my friends, or even my good buddies.

I am positive that if I had gone, I would have been happily welcomed. These folk had not been overtly hateful to me, back in the day, as dozens of others had been.

But, on the other hand, neither had they been there to comfort me when my mother died. The memory of me weeping uncontrollably in class, during a showing of "Brian's Song," not long after her funeral, still lingers. No person, not even the teacher, thought to offer me tissues. 

I became quite ill during my final semester of senior year with Grave's Disease and I could not continue school. My mother had had thyroid disease, too.

I cannot recall anybody, save for two friends and my high school counselor, who gave a rat's ass about me or tried to help. (After all these years, my memory may be faulty.)

I never graduated high school. I had surgery, a partial thyroidectomy, the summer of '75, and even my older brothers were absent. Where were they?

I left home for good that August, and still I wonder why I keep looking back, wishing and hoping that I missed something.