Turning over a new leaf...eventually

Having received confirmation that Professor Morris has, in fact, found this blog--whether before or after yesterday's shout-out, it's impossible to say--I feel compelled to talk about something that matters. Something about politics or current events, or at least a kind of witty observation about human nature. You know.

So...look for that soon. Today I've got some petty whining about the sale of residential realty.

But before I get to that, on a point cryptically related to the above (the professor, not the whining), I've linked to my friend CS' blog, The Reliant, along the right side of this page. CS (sometimes she uses just her first name, sometimes just her last; we'll use neither to be safe) is a 1L here at UVA. She's brilliant, and also hilarious, though that second part doesn't come through all that well on her blog, which is all about things that really matter. Someday, I hope to understand enough about international politics to make it all the way through an entry like the one from March 12. Very much worth a link nonetheless; maybe you'll get what she's talking about. And there's always the chance that she'll say something characteristically funny. At the very least, you'll think I know smart people, making me appear smarter by extension.

So we're selling our house. I'm a bit sad to be doing so in the first place; I like this house, and it's about twice as large as the sort of place we're likely to end up getting in Chicago (and cost us about 60% as much money as we're likely to spend there). But here's something you don't hear much about (actually, it's something that everybody talks about when they're going through it, but then if you're not going through it--as you aren't--you just sit there and get annoyed and roll your eyes when other people talk about it--as I am--and don't really think about it until you're going through it): selling one's home really sucks. I mean, really.

It's not just all the cleaning and putting things in storage, although that's taken hours and hours and was really quite a colossal pain in the rear. It's having to constantly keep things clean. And not just clean, but the kind of clean that gives the illusion that nobody actually lives here. I have to keep my toothbrush under the sink, for example. And make the bed.

On top of that, I have to be ready to leave at essentially every moment. Some stranger calls and says she's on her way, and I have to take my dog and get the hell out. Of my own home. I mean, I haven't had to do that yet (just went on the market today, in fact), but I will. And I won't be happy.

I mean, I can't complain too much about it, for no reason other than that our real estate agent is also my aunt. But man.

Until next time. I'll keep thinking.