I’m learning more about what this “homeowner” thing means every day.
So far, it means laughing at the absurdity that the security guy, while installing my system, Fell. Through. The. Ceiling. Well, it means checking first to be sure the guy was okay (he was) and then… laughing because I’d lived there less than 24 hours and had a big gaping hole in the bedroom ceiling.
It means learning that for every DiY project, I will screw it up the first time. Then get it right the second.
Well, maybe.
It means that after spending two hours trying to hang drapes in the bedroom, turning to walk out of the room and hearing the drapes Fall. Out. Of. The. Wall. – I will resist the urge to sit down on the floor and cry. I will also resist the urge to paint the windows black and be done with it.
Then I’ll make my boyfriend hang the damn drapes.
It means that while at some point, I will have to figure out why the kitchen tap is making that *thunk* *thunk* noise when the cold water is on, that point is not now. Unless it starts spewing water up towards the ceiling, which is, I suppose, a possibility I’d rather not face.
Speaking of hot water, it means remembering to switch the hoses that the moving company incorrectly hooked up to my washing machine. Or maybe learning to wash my clothes by remembering that the cold setting will be steaming hot water.
It means that it better not rain this weekend because I need to work on the yard.
It means that the cats, unaccustomed to being in a house this size, keep getting lost in the middle of the night and yowling to be found. Which means half-sleeping shouts of, “I’m in HERE damnit! No, in HERE!”
Which, hey, if I’m going to be awake in the middle of the night, then at least I can call the cops on the panhandler who keeps knocking on the door at midnight.
But for all that, I still love the place.
So far, it means laughing at the absurdity that the security guy, while installing my system, Fell. Through. The. Ceiling. Well, it means checking first to be sure the guy was okay (he was) and then… laughing because I’d lived there less than 24 hours and had a big gaping hole in the bedroom ceiling.
It means learning that for every DiY project, I will screw it up the first time. Then get it right the second.
Well, maybe.
It means that after spending two hours trying to hang drapes in the bedroom, turning to walk out of the room and hearing the drapes Fall. Out. Of. The. Wall. – I will resist the urge to sit down on the floor and cry. I will also resist the urge to paint the windows black and be done with it.
Then I’ll make my boyfriend hang the damn drapes.
It means that while at some point, I will have to figure out why the kitchen tap is making that *thunk* *thunk* noise when the cold water is on, that point is not now. Unless it starts spewing water up towards the ceiling, which is, I suppose, a possibility I’d rather not face.
Speaking of hot water, it means remembering to switch the hoses that the moving company incorrectly hooked up to my washing machine. Or maybe learning to wash my clothes by remembering that the cold setting will be steaming hot water.
It means that it better not rain this weekend because I need to work on the yard.
It means that the cats, unaccustomed to being in a house this size, keep getting lost in the middle of the night and yowling to be found. Which means half-sleeping shouts of, “I’m in HERE damnit! No, in HERE!”
Which, hey, if I’m going to be awake in the middle of the night, then at least I can call the cops on the panhandler who keeps knocking on the door at midnight.
But for all that, I still love the place.
