House lust
As a woman I've heard lots about the 'biological clock' that's supposed to be ticking inside me like a bomb. You know what? I've never heard a tick. Not once. Not even when I've been in the presence of uber-cute, precocious babies. Nope. So either my clock is broken or missing or the whole damn idea is a myth. But lately, I've been experiencing something else in a profound must-have, want-now, can't-wait way. House lust.
I want a house. I want a roof and windows and nice wooden floors and a fireplace. Please, please, a fireplace! I'd like a wee yard too because it's hard for me to conceive of 'house' without a bit of land (blame my semi-rural upbringing.) I want to fill the house with furniture I bought and decorate it with colors I like and bake masses of cookies in the kitchen (but not for future children--still no ticking!)
I've been perusing the Sunday Real estate section and browsing Craigslist for properties for sale. I'm getting familiar with the real estate lingo. Cozy=frigging tiny. As is=major work needed. Just gut renovated=expensive. Most of the listings don't stir me from my Goldilocks inspired criticisms. Too small, too big, etc. But occasionally I see one that makes my heart go pitter-patter (and then I remember I have an erratic heart beat so I discount that). But once in every two thousand listings I see one for sale that makes me wish I had money with which to purchase said house. Then I go look at my savings account in the hopes that the money has somehow gotten infused with rabbit-DNA and has begun breeding! (That hasn't happened...yet.)
But until then I have hope and house lust.