I tried blogging before and discovered that I’m wretched at it. And trying again definitely goes against all of my beliefs in “If at first you don’t succeed, give up and take a nap.”

We’ll see how it goes. I can’t actually die of this, right?

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It’s been ten years since I bought my house. Ten years. And I can barely remember the anguish I felt when it when into contract just minutes before I made my offer.

I wanted it. I got it.

And I hate it.

I hate its drafts and its street and its neighbors and its windows. I hate every last squeak in the floor or ill-fitting door or the bad-tempered boiler in the basement. People tell me it’s pretty, but it’s just an eyesore to me, bad tempered and badly plumbed.

In ten years, did I gain vision or lose it? The skeleton of my ambitions gets shorter, and brittle.

Oh well. It’s nothing a well-placed tornado can’t fix.