Lots of Monkeys

I seem a little crazy and melodramatic in those bits of writing. I guess it’s overwhelming when you think about mortgages and contracts and chunks of your estimated lifespan. But now, when I’m moving things in 3 boxes at a time under the cover of darkness, the whole “ownership” concern fades away.

Taking its place are thoughts about moving, redoing my closets, getting a desk, remodeling the kitchen, remodeling the bathroom, painting (maybe taupe), muslin curtains, and bookshelves, bookshelves, bookshelves. It makes sense that now that the macro view is done, I have to start thinking about what happens “next week.”

Next week, I have to live there.

The thought of “living in my own house” conjures images of browsing used furniture stores, trips to houseware stores, and emergency runs to hardware stores. Of picking out flatware, selecting place settings for four, and finding the right carpet for the family room. Of fixing plumbing, grounding outlets, and replacing cabinets.

At first, I felt as if I was falling behind somehow, as if the place is supposed to be this fully furnished, magazine cover “contemporary living” space as soon as I put my key in the lock. But that’s a pipe dream, in the literal opium smoking sense of the word.

If I believed that, it would be no better than believing in airbrushed standards of beauty.

For now, it will be a place for me to sleep and sort out my boxes and boxes and boxes–of bricabrac.

So forgive me while I don’t have seating for you when you come over to watch “The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra” or all three volumes of “Invader Zim.” Your company is what’s going to make this place homey and comfortable while we sit on folding chairs and eat pizza off of paper plates.

And I think that’s just fine.

This is what I was thinking the night before my closing:

This is it. One of the last nights I’ll be in this house. This night ends an era, and begins a new one. The end of college roommates and non contractual, gentleman’s agreement leases, of Real World situations that eerily mirror reality television. The end of roommate drama and tension and responsibilities. From this point on, all the drama, tension, and responsibility is solely mine.

But, I’ll miss some of those things.

I’m hardly packed, but the move shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve got a month, and a lot of time to do it in. It’s the beginning of mortgage payments. The beginning of homeownership. The beginning of living by myself–which I believe is going to be the most challenging aspect.

It’s sad, but at the same time, exciting. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know how I’ll get internet service. I’ll be roughing it for a while. (Editor’s Note: Notice this sentence immediately follows the one regarding broadband.) Things are going to get crazy before they get back to that altered state of consciousness that I consider “normal.”

I don’t have a place to eat, a place to sit, or even a bedframe in there. It’s all very free form and not under control in the least.

And I guess I’m okay with that. I mean, I’m going to have to be.

The morning of October 4th:

I just put the cashier’s check into an envelope, and the envelope into Stephen King’s On Writing. I guess that’s an appeal for some sort of blessing on his part. Or just a coincidence, since that’s the only book I have in my backpack at the moment. It’s cool, but getting warmer, and I’m waiting for the shuttle to the metro. I’ve had a chick fil a sandwich and a bit of a smoothie from jamba juice. My stomach, for the most part, is settled.

I’m not scared, but a strange calm, a resignation, an acceptance of what I am about to do has come over me. Some think of that as a bad thing. I do not. I think it’s a way for me to believe that it’s not out of control, that all that money I’m spending each month really is going to come back to me. I don’t know for certain. It’s a gamble, like any investment. Unlike every gamble, it’s my home.

Where I live and where I put all of my stuff.

For at least the next five years.

It’s quite a committment. No more packing up and moving at the whims of my once chaotic lifestyle.

*sigh*

Right.

Well. DSL’s installed.

Now I can really start moving into this place.

It’s all about standards. No phone? Psh. No cable? Please.

No broadband? Whoa, just, whoa–I didn’t sign up for this.

When I used to commute via the metro to Bethesda or downtown to Foggy Bottom, I’d see all sorts of professionals on their way to work, in their suits and ties. . . And sneakers. I always thought they looked really silly on their way to work.

I would think to myself, “I’d never do that.”

And yet, about two years later, here I am, wearing sneakers on the way in and out. I’ve got a pair of work shoes that I leave in my office.

I’m not in a suit and tie (I don’t need to wear either), but I am sometimes in dress slacks. Which, admittedly, still looks silly–but is comfy. Should have done this years ago.

Plus, these sneakers are way cooler than the kicks those dweebs were wearing. For real.

Things may get weird for a short period of time while I switch hosting providers.