Sep 17, 2008 01:50
We got approved for a mortgage today, and we made an offer on a house.
Afterward, we drove by it again, at sunset. We got out and walked around. You can hear the highway from the yard. We met a really handsome cat, and spoke to the leader of the neighborhood association who happened to be on her front lawn enjoying the evening. Our conversation with her was most educational and reassuring. This is a neighborhood where everyone knows everyone else, everyone looks out for one another, everyone cares.
The house isn't perfect from the outside. It's a nasty color, for one. However, inside, it is a palace, and I do not lie. I want this house. I want it as much as I wanted the last one, the one we almost got. When we went to look at it, Sargon found a bent iron horseshoe. Luck?
I worked my magic on the doorstep, a quiet magic I very rarely make because I don't always believe in it, and I'm not sure I believe in it now. Afterward, I developed a splitting headache behind both eyes and in the back of the skull, and just now when Sargon and I wished on iron, I got another milder headache. Maybe it's working. I am afraid to even talk about it because I don't want to jinx it, but last night I asked for good vibes and today we were approved for the mortgage, so I'm being up-front.
From now until the offer is accepted -- from now until closing, really -- I need whatever juice you can spare.
I can't live here any longer. I'm strangling. I don't have the emotional wherewithal to clean or maintain anything. Even if I did, we have no storage space to put anything. I want out of this place so badly.
It would be nice to have something worth calling Morningstar Hall. Since, you know, I will never live in the actual Morningstar Hall, which is a haunted Tudor/Georgian manor somewhere in Massachusetts, and is furthermore imaginary. But I can have my pirate ship fireback, my study with the map on one wall, my red room, my gold and green room.
Please, just . . . let this one work.