12.17.03 - 1:01 p.m.

One hundred years ago today, the Wright Brothers flew their contraption of a thingamabob that become the first airplane ever in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Because of our arbitrary use of base ten (well, not arbitrary. We have ten fingers! It makes sense.), we now celebrate the 100th anniversary of the first flight with the sort of fervor that should have greeted the actual first flight, but didn't because we may not have understood the real significance at the time and also because, you know, there wasn't the evening news or radio or the internet.

That was an achievement, to be sure.

Today, one hundred years later, I am making an offer on a house. My parents do not approve, of that I am certain. This is perhaps somewhat troubling, because they are supplying a portion of the downpayment.

God, I am nervous as fucking hell. Okay, I haven't even completed the paperwork or whatever necessary to make the offer, but I'm bloody well sitting here going crazy just from having to call the real estate agent and tell her I want to make the offer, and from calling my dad and telling him. He got... rather quiet.

I'm really, really nervous. I think I have tears in my eyes. I'm just... scared I'm going to somehow mess this up, or get myself into a situation I can't handle. Except I'm not really scared of any of that: I think I can handle it. I know that I'll be fine, and I think the house will be fine, but it's just very complicated and I sometimes have problems getting very simple things done, so... something like this is ridiculously nervewracking. I've been looking at this and thinking about it and dreaming about it and being ridiculous about it for a very long time. It should work out. Shouldn't it?

Maybe I shouldn't be doing this. I think I should wait, but I don't want to wait: I want to move now. If I don't buy a house, I need to find a new apartment ASAP. And if I find a new apartment, I can't buy a house. And I hate looking at apartments, and the nice ones are kinda expensive, and it takes so much time and I hate it, and maybe this is an extreme solution to my long-simmering but now boiling dissatisfaction with my current living arrangements and everything associated with them, so maybe I'm a little crazy - I think I'm going a little crazy, actually, or maybe even a LOT crazy - ookay, I'm not actually crazy.

I'm just scared.
I hate making decisions.
I cannot decide what to eat for dinner.
So, how can I make a decision like this?
What if I fuck up?