just checking in

Heart by Andy Warhol

Yesterday we checked in on the box house. To be honest, there have been a few undocumented drive-bys this month. It's a sort of a catharsis for me, I guess, to swing by and make sure the house is still standing (and unoccupied). Sometimes when I think about our house and why it isn't selling I tell myself that it must be for a reason. Maybe the box house isn't the answer; maybe it's not the house for us. But then when we go by to look at the box house, all the old feelings come rushing back and I want desperately to own it. It's kind of like we're in an abusive relationship (though I fault the real estate market and not the box house itself). We're being taunted--ha! ha! look at this house that could be yours with an historically-low interest rate if only you could sell you current place--it says. Maybe someday we'll be able to mend our relationship and live cohesively as one. Until then, I guess we'll remain the stalkers.