do·mes·tic·i·ty.

We had a busy weekend. After work on Friday, we caught a train out to New Canaan. We had an appointment yesterday with a real estate broker and spent all day looking at houses. It was really intended to be more of an "educational" trip (i.e., getting a sense of the market, so we know what we're getting into), but the more we saw the more excited we became. We could be homeowners and even suburbanites. We have always loved Connecticut and have known that we would not live in the city forever, but saving for a house is a long process... We're finally getting to the point where this could be a real possibility and yesterday was our first serious step forward. We walked through a dozen or so houses, and drove by many more. Real estate prices in Connecticut are unbelievable, and the price of a starting home is rather nauseating. We were certainly not looking at palaces- Cape style, 3 bedroom, 1200-1800 sq. feet homes build in the late 1800's on tiny pieces of land. This being said- many were still beautiful. One, in particular, completely won my heart. It is yellow, with a large porch in front. There is a huge tree out in front that cascades of the right side of the house. I'm sure it is beautiful in the fall. The house is beautifully restored, new appliances, perfectly painted walls and a great layout. There is so much space. I dreamt about it all night. The only problem- it's about $100K over our price range. Our broker called the seller, and it looks like the price will not go down until around April. Sometimes I feel like a 2 year old. When I see something I want, I want it. (This is especially true with shoes.) This is how I feel about this house. We could walk to the train station. It's a few blocks away from the town center of New Canaan, which is SO cute and picturesque. There is nothing wrong about the house, except for the rather huge price tag. Hopefully a miracle will take place in the next couple of months, but in the meantime, I think I'm feeling my first sense of adult disappointment. I'm sure it will happen over and over again throughout life, but in the meantime, I just feel like pouting. And I'm overwhelmed.

Buying a house means many other things. First and most importantly, it means a mortgage. We are used to paying a ridiculous amount of money for rent in New York, but our mortgage would be a significant amount more. It would stretch us, most definitely. This alone is a scary thought. It also means that Mike and I would both have to commute over an hour to get to work in the city (via train). This is normal for the northeast, but this is not normal for a girl from Spokane, Washington. My dad complains about it taking 12 minutes instead of 10 to drive to work. It would be an adjustment. Buying a house also means buying many other things. A lawnmower! Shovels! Furniture, to fill up all of the many empty rooms. A car! We really do have a simple existence in NYC. No car, three rooms in our apartment to worry about, and a commute that involves nothing but walking. We're lucky. Buying a house (or at least contemplating) also demands that we make decisions about other serious topics in the Whiting family: When do we have kids? Do we go to graduate school, and if so, when? Do we want to buy in the city, first, and then move to the suburbs? Would I keep my job in the city or find something else? Buying a house would also bring many good things: Having a tangible asset. Living in a beautiful town with fresh air and really nice people. Mike's family would be a few minutes away. We would finally have space. It would be nice.

In other news:

• My apartment is a disaster. I have been so busy and tired all week that I simply have not had the energy to clean. This is not normal, as I am obsessively clean. I know today is supposed to be a day of rest, but for the sake of my sanity, it will be an afternoon of cleaning and organization.
• I think I have an abnormal fear of public restrooms. I hate them. Especially at work. I hate seeing people I know in the bathroom. If I am almost in a stall and I hear the door start to open, I seem to jump into the stall as quickly as I can so that no one can see me. My heart actually starts to race. This is strange. I don't know why this is, but I've always been this way. Why on earth would restrooms make me anxious?!
• I'm still making my way through Stegner's Crossing to Safety. I have loved it, but never have time to read. I've got about 100 pages to go. My book was in my overnight bag this weekend, and somehow the front cover tore. This really bothers me. I am the girl who re-writes to-do lists so that there are not any mistakes or poorly formed letters. I don't like messes, simply put, which translates into me not liking torn book covers, crooked ceilings in old houses or messy closets. Sigh. I really need to relax.
• I'm glad that Meredith did not die. I knew she wouldn't, but I'm still glad she didn't. Mike was traveling Thursday and Friday of this week and I was happy when he was home safely. I've decided that if he died, I would simply stop breathing. Maybe this isn't good, maybe it isn't healthy, and I know that I shouldn't be so short-sighted, but I really think that my heart would just stop beating. I love my husband and I love my family. I hope we are never faced with true tragedy, and if we are, that I have the strength to keep breathing.
• I don't feel well. I think it is partly stress/fatigue/anxiety. I thought I was going to throw up our entire trip home on the train last night. I fell asleep on the subway between Grand Central and our Wall Street stop. My whole body was aching, and all week my stomach has felt like I have an ulcer (I probably do). My feet were swollen. Mike went out to the deli behind our building at close to midnight and bought me some theraflu. It helped, actually, but I still decided to choose sleep this morning in lieu of getting out of bed for church, and I am now choosing blogging in my pj's on my couch.