I was ready to write a post about the fact that I am thinking I might be ready to -- gasp -- buy a condo when the realization slapped me in the face like the stench from a bag of stinky, rotting asparagus:
I am so not ready to buy a condo.
(Plus, are these decisions you should make when you are loaded up with prescription drugs? Probably not.)
First? I'm a little ocd. (Okay, I'm a LOT ocd. But it's my blog and I'll underemphasize if I want to). So the idea of owning a home is sweet until I start THINKING about it. Like this: Oh right, a mortgage. Oh and utilities. And property taxes. And maintenance and upkeep and I don't have enough furniture and I would probably want to paint a room or two and I would need to hire a mover AGAIN because I don't really do well with the moving and unloading and are the appliances included? Because I would need to get some of those as well and now that I'm having a huge anxiety attack, I think I need to stop thinking about it and go lay down.
(I am told that there are people who have brains who don't work like this. I ENVY those people.)
Second? I don't actually think I can get myself through the process of loan qualification without having a complete nervous breakdown. (Also? I might not qualify. And then I would be all "I've been rejected and am WORTHLESS" and that wouldn't be fun for anyone at all.)
Third? Ah, third.
Third would be the part where I opened up my fridge and thought: the time of reckoning has come.
To be fair to me, I HAVE been -- and am still -- pretty sick, so there were things I bought last week -- Fresh things! Healthy things! -- which did not get devoured. Apparently, my grocery shopping self last week knew that I was on the verge of medical disaster and thought I should buy veggies, fruits, and leafy greens. But alas, it was too late, and then, once I was like "oh boy, I'm REALLY sick" I was ALSO deep in the realm of "Please, I need saltines and soup because they require no cooking". Which was FINE except that the veggies and fruits and such were STILL in the fridge. Waiting. And after waiting a while, they also began plotting their revenge.
"You plucked us from the shelves to sit here in your fridge? and left us here to DIEEEEEE? Oh we'll show you, my friend. We'll ... show ... you..."
So today, I suited up with the Hazmat gear and went in.
It wasn't pretty.
I may have tossed some plastic containers that were looking like biological experiments straight out of Resident Evil. (I believe I heard a throaty chuckle from one of them).
I may have bagged the trash, lysol'd the outside of the bag, and then bagged it again. To protect the innocent.
And then, of course, I had to go in with the bleachy type cleaners and wipe down the inside of the now empty fridge -- which is something of a problem because I have no food in there and I'm not allowed to drive for another several days. (Don't worry, I'll sort it out. And I have some frozen meals in the freezer. I won't starve.)
However, all of this has made me realize: I'm not ready to be a homeowner. I am perfectly happy renting my little corner of the world.
But I know when I WILL be ready to be a homeowner.
And it will be as soon as I've mastered the art of keeping food from going bad in the fridge.