01.19.04 - 2:21 p.m.

I have some sort of fucking pathology, it's just crazy. I'm sitting here uninterested in answering the phone because I don't want to talk to the realtor because I don't want to deal with the problems with the house I'm buying, at least not for another day. What is going to happen tonight to change any of the facts? Nothing. What is going to happen tonight to make any of this more pleasant or less uncertain? Absolutely nothing.

I'm sure I'll handle this before the end of the day, but until I do I cannot shake these vague feelings of guilt and dread. Whyfor the guilt? It's not my fault that the furnace doesn't actually put out heat, or that the lights dim significantly when the furnace fan comes on. It's not my fault, and in fact, these are things the owner should be made aware of and should probably correct anyway, if they want to sell this house. But for the moment, I feel like an intruder, an interloper. I feel vaguely sick, there's a sour stone at the pit of my stomach. I know there's no reason to feel like this, and I'm glad we caught these things now, I'm glad the inspector still (?!) hasn't charged me for the inspection, despite two aborted attempts, and I know I will be just freakin' fine whichever way this turns out, and so on. But still: me? Sick, just a bit. More than a bit.

I think if this doesn't work out: if they won't fix the electrical system, if they can't figure out what's wrong with the furnace, I'm going to stop looking and just get a freakin' apartment already, a new one. I've been looking, and I'm willing to spend the extra to have a nice apartment. I could get a two bedroom, new appliances, etc. out in B-ville for $135/month more than I'm paying now, or a 1 bedroom with balcony right on the South Side for well, the same price. I'd like a townhouse with a little garden space, or half of one of these old houses on the South Side, but that's so iffy in re the fixtures, pipes, plumbing etc. that something made of relatively new construction sounds a better choice. It's hard to find someplace that allows pets, though, even just cats, and I'm not really sure I want to live all the way out in Barboursville. The traffic getting into town isn't great. It's not bad, but it's not great, and it's a twenty minute drive to and from work every day. I don't believe in freakin' suburbs.

I half-wish that the house would fall in on itself so I could go to plan B and start calling about apartments, but I don't want to call until I can tell myself something definite, and I don't want to get excited about something else until I'm sure that this is all wrong.

I was feeling better about the space today: I really love the living room, the mantle and the boards about it, the front bedroom with its beautiful floor, even the kitchen is fine. The appliances are old, but the linoleum isn't quite as ugly as I thought it was last week. The steps aren't even all that bad. I mean, they're fine. I want a garden, but that one'll be so much work and ARGH I hate this freakin' WAITING.

See? That's pathology. I hate waiting, but I think waiting (a day, an hour) will change (what?) something, anything, and it'll all be fine.