We've moved on to the "getting loan quotes" bit, and having established our max limit, we are shortly moving to the "call the realtor" stage. My father calls me now and again to utter dark prophecies about the horrors of escrow (He says it's bad, but just when you hit the breaking point and are about ready to declaim that you will live in a cardboard box from now on, goddamnit, it's over.) I have always had a horror of paperwork, since my student loan days, and now it's as if a demon I had banished to the back of the file cabinet is starting to claw its way into the light. It's not here yet, but I hear the heavy tread 'pon the stair, and all my incredulous glee at the notion that I could buy a house! me! and put in bird feeders! and foxglove! and bat houses! and paint rooms any damn color I want! cannot save me from the chill dread. Soon, the forms will come.
Fear! Terror! Panic! Buying of gardening books! Fear! Contemplation of potential decor! Horror!
Meanwhile, there's a lot of stuff I need to work on. So of course I have a painting idea. Because that's just how it works.