The massive physiological destabilization triggered by John’s departure doesn’t change my own deadlines: I still have to get out by next week, stay somewhere in the interim because I’m now too frail to camp alone, work out mitigation strategies that’ll work for both me and my hostess, and maintain forward momentum on my house search.
The physiological damage does make safe housing more critical. My body is borrowing against a future it may not have, to get through this difficult period. Fact of spoonie life.
I have movers lined up to get the furniture out, but I don’t yet have storage to put it in. So that’s today’s job.
I was nibbling at two properties, both of which are now out of reach, but it was a learning experience:
- Small cheap homes in the country go like lightning. By the time my realtor and I could both get to the house that looked close to being right, it was already under offer.
- Renovating a good shell, even when the demolition is already done, takes serious time, as well as money.
This second point has a lot of bearing on my work here.
From a builder’s perspective, building a house from scratch is the most expensive thing you can possibly do. Buying a shell and renovating it is the ideal combination of price and control over the result.
From the homeowner’s perspective, where the heck am I going to live while the renovation is done? Rent isn’t cheap, and rental units — for reasons described at much length in previous posts — are too risky for too many reasons to be a rational option.
So, I’m putting “buy a plot, preferably with a driveway, well, and septic, and put up a new cottage” back on the list. It may spend out my money up front, but the housing formats I’m considering are put together very quickly, so I’d be in safe shelter in fairly short order. THAT would save me a LOT!
I’m way beyond frustrated or exasperated. I’m in that still, calm, bitter pool on the other side. One foot in front of the other. Onward.