December 4, 2013

Folie d’Espana on Pandora

Went to see the house across the street, the murder house. The realtor didn’t know it was the murder house and was not particularly happy to hear it. That just makes it more interesting to me. I thought it must be red-necky inside, but nothing could be further from the truth. It is rustic/elegant, with light pouring in from all sides.. I’m sad that I didn’t know the current owner better than I did- which is to say, not at all, for he is a manly and cultivated man. It suits me the best of any house I have seen yet, though the land is not better–a little worse–than what I have now. Something in the prospect of, maybe, owning that house lit a fire under me. I sold Diageo and paid of my house. I am now the sole owner of this property, bank go to hell. The actual check has not been written, for one must wait for the money to drift from one place to another. Makes you wonder why something that was not thought of for five years became suddenly, upon a winter’s afternoon, necessary. I have searched my heart for regrets, and I have none. I can buy this house outright and put a down payment on a new one (should that finally happen) and still have more money than I got from my father five years ago. I am even reconciled to the loss of the new house, already have plans for bringing this one up to standards without too much turmoil. It’s odd how you can think and think on an issue and arrive nowhere until a particular moment, as if that moment had been chosen long ago and nothing was going to move it.