Our original target was February 1. That came and went, so we picked another deadline. And another. And another. Why? Starting with the week after the moving truck pulled out of the driveway last August, more and more shit hit the fan as each month passed.
- Master bedroom light/fan died
- Bottom dropped out of the hot water heater
- Garbage disposal developed a leak
- Toilet in master bathroom developed a leak, subfloor needed to be replaced
- Kitchen faucet broke
- Hot water faucet in master bathroom tub leaked
- Honey bee invasion
- Electric ignition on gas range stopped working, cheaper to replace unit than to fix
- Downstairs A/C unit died
- Cold water faucet for washing machine leaked
None of these have been cheap, easy, DIY fixes. I can paint and tile and lay hardwood and plant petunias in large pots, but I know when to bring in the experts. And every month I managed to save money for the painting and tiling and flowers, whichever disaster happened that month chewed up the cash, sometimes putting us back more than that particular month.
These are the reasons I'm still dealing with this stupid-ass house. These are the reasons my blood pressure has skyrocketed despite my seven years of keeping it under control. These are the reasons I haven't had time to write, other than working on Book 7 of Bloodlines on my iPhone while standing in line at stores. These are the reasons why I understand home owners walking away from their property and letting the bank foreclose.
When I mentioned the last one, DH pointed out we'd done too much and come too far. Then I started crying, but he's right.
My perspective would be a little better if I could get more than four hours of sleep a night.
And if the blister on my thumb from scrapping linoleum glue off the bathroom floor didn't hurt so damn bad.
