If I thought Wednesday's offer was official, I was nowhere near ready for today's version of "official." K's offer (well, her counter offer to their counter offer) went through. Contract has been signed, and now, as she says, all that's left is to "pay people to tell me buying the house is a good idea," and so begins the litany of home inspections and mortgage approvals.
Wow. It's still so unsettling to me, and I'm not sure why. I can't believe we're old enough to do things like sign up for 30 year mortgages and worry about faulty wiring and water heaters. Just a few days ago, I called my apartment manager to take care of the bees that are making themselves at home on my porch.
A big, very real part of me wishes that I was looking to buy a house in the near future, but not even for the reasons anyone might think. It's not about "pouring money" into rent, or even investing. I can invest on my own in something that I don't have to maintain. Rather, I think it's everything that I view as coming with a house. Having a house means you're happy, settled, stable, situated.
As I get older, I'm starting to embrace my fear and hatred of transitions, because I'm finally figuring out that I will always be transitions. That, or I will have made that final transition (eek!). It's like the people that always ask when you're going to get married, then, when you do, they start asking about kids. Then another kid. It's never settled. It's never done. And that's the beauty of it.
So I need to put my house-envy away and pocket that real emotion, that life is ever-changing and it's scary, but it's what makes it fun. Or at least interesting.
For now, hurrah for K! I'll have to find her a plant she can't kill to go beside her cute little front porch swing. And get back to looking for a new roommate.