Note: Clearly, a bunch of things far more important than my self-indulgent nattering have gone on this week. Having said that, I don’t think there’s anything useful I can add except for relief that it’s over (see last paragraph of entry). I’ve felt like hiding under a blanket for a few days now, but on the other hand, I have not been personally affected by events and I don’t want to steal other people’s legitimate suffering in a drama-queen sort of way. And with that:
Time: Ever since I moved, the evenings have felt so truncated. I do usually get home about a half hour later than I once did, but it seems that I just have time to eat, clean up, and relax a little before I have to go to bed. It doesn’t help that I’ve been going to bed really early (for me) — between 9:30 and 10:30. What on earth is making time speed up like that? Time off always goes faster but this is ridiculous.
Money: I just paid my taxes, and I had an $1,800 vet adventure with Alexander a couple of weeks ago. SO NOT AMUSED. He’s fine, and the friend whose cat the vets think may have made him sick helped out, but sheesh. That’s certainly money I could have used for something else. It led to another bout of Why Did I Buy A House When I Could Have Gone to Europe Every Year Instead? I keep reminding myself that the money I put into the house is not like putting money into a car or various junk, but more like putting it into an investment account. Still, I’ve spent money round here that I really didn’t have to, I guess, but I wanted to — replacing the front door with a steel, you-will-not-be-kicking-me-in model; having a nicer faucet in the kitchen than the wobbly one that was here; buying a really nice dining table and a lovely two-chair bistro set for the little balcony; having my handyman finally hang my sari tapestry properly instead of me hanging it up again via thumbtack; replacing the doorbell that was too corroded to really hear; buying a standalone freezer. It’s not like I recarpeted the whole place (I wish) or gutted it to the studs or anything, but the upshot is that my travel account is a but a wisp and it made me sad. In a First World Problem sort of way. Cue the tiny violins!
Home: I was reading something about the genesis of this development and they called them “luxury condos and townhouses.” Granted, when they were new, just prior to the crash, they went for about twice what I paid for mine. And also granted, I am not an expert on what luxury is. I only saw five properties before I bought this one, and one of the others was in this development as well. Comparing those five, then yes, it’s kinda luxurious. I suppose my big garden bathtub should have told me that. But as I was discussing with the aforementioned handyman, some things were done here really nicely (there’s good tile in the bathrooms and kitchen and hardwood in the dining room; I am all ready for central A/C if I wanted to hook it up; I have granite countertops and good appliances [although the fridge is a bit of a lemon and will be replaced next year]; the windows are double-paned and they almost soundproof the place; speaking of soundproof, you never ever ever hear the neighbors) and then there are things like the kinda crappy cabinets, the not-so-fabulous-in-either-quality-or-color carpet, and the lightweight front door.
And yet, at the same time that I’m kind of ruing buying a place, I’m thinking about how I want to put wood floors in the living room, entry way, and kitchen (I don’t like tile in the kitchen; especially not the same rosy-beige tile as is in the bathrooms); recarpet the stairs to and the floor of my bedroom (oh that will be fun); buy blackout shades for the tv room and my bedroom; get Levelors for the office/guest room; and on and on. I know I won’t do it all at once, but I also think about how I didn’t buy a place at 25 or 30 or 35, but at 45, so I don’t have 30 years to do whatever… well, I might, but considering neither of my parents lived to be 75 and that I’d like to do these things while I’m still young enough to have a few years to enjoy them….
Sleep: I’ve been so exhausted lately — going to bed early, barely able to stay awake at work, miserable. And then I hit on a twofold, and utterly blindingly obvious, idea. Oh heavens, the facepalmingly obvious is apparently news to me. 1.) Take the 7:07 bus to work instead of the 6:37. I still get there in time, although I don’t get a kick-back thirty minutes before I start. But I get to sleep for those thirty minutes instead! A half hour in the morning is precious. 2.) Yes, I need to have plenty of warning and time to hit the snooze; I get too panicky and disoriented if you try to get me out of bed on the first go. But instead of having the first alarm go off at 4:20 AM (only ten minutes shy of two hours before I had to get up) and then having two alternating backup alarms on my phone going off in the five o’clock hour (which was kind of like being locked in a fun house, actually) I’ve changed to having one go off at five (an hour and a half ahead, give or take) and then the backup non-radio alarm going off after six. I may tweak it further, but considering I have to get up between 4 and 5 to feed the cats, I still won’t get entirely unbroken sleep. But it’s done wonders — I have gotten so much more real sleep, and yet I still have enough of a warning that I can get up without flailing.
And now, it’s a lazy Friday night after a hellish week for the United States. So glad this week is over!