It’s been a process, not an event.

Ren has posted many times about taking over working on the walls, but the sink, medicine cabinet, and light fixture in our bathroom were always squarely in my court, which left me with sweaty palms, more than a few choice curse words, and a distinct feeling that I was going to do more damage than installation on this project.

So, today, when I finished hooking up the P-Trap and flushing the lines, and realized that not only was the sink providing water, but it was all draining out without leaking all over the floor in a rot-inducing puddle, I realized that I needed to do what any other self-respecting internet-connected person would do:

Post to my blog. And you read it. Sucker.

This week, I spent about an hour and a half signing and initialing some 150 pages of documents.

This significant portion of a ream of paper was devoted to a single task, one which would have been extraordinarily refreshing had I not done it once before, approximately thirteen months earlier: buying a house. But let’s be honest; the documents don’t really have anything to do with the actual transaction of buying the house…they are mortgage paperwork, so that the money I need to give to the sellers (who in turn must use it to give to their lender, who in turn pays THEIR lender, and so on ) can magically appear in check form. Upon my agreement to give up my firstborn child, some stem cells, and a few other pieces of my anatomy (Or, to send an exorbitant monthly payment to some bank or other), whoosh! There it was. Over a quarter of a million dollars. Whooooooosh!

And then there it went. I never even saw the check. You’d think, after signing my already carpal-tunnel-surgery-ready hands into a twitching, writhing claw of pen-grasping doom, I might get to see that little piece of paper for just 5 seconds, just to feel momentarily rich before it is snatched away to pay the financiers their due. But no. They didn’t even let me sniff it or anything. The sellers were gone before the first set of paperwork was even signed.

This brings us to today. I have a beautiful new home! And a beautiful not-quite-as-new condo! I have more mortgages than I have jobs! I’ve got more bathrooms (to take dumps in) than I have family members (to take the dumps)! That’s right, friends, everyone in my family can be crapping simultaneously and you could still come over and drop a quick deuce yourself. How’s that for convenience? Maybe I should keep the condo as a summer home…

No. No, no no. I want to sell this condo. It’s the perfect vintage, hardwood-floor, fireplace, elegant-dining-room sort of place that I’ve outgrown so much faster than I could ever have believed before now.

So. Here goes. One last time. Anyone want a condo?