Heather and I were talking on the drive home from Hybridoma last night, about how our last several weeks of gigs have been extremely satisfying, good for the soul, while also being pleasantly exhausting. Play gig, get home, unload, take shower, go to bed.
Shame there’s SO much other stuff to think about.
The landlord made his offer, we made our counter-offer, and now he’s made his counter-counter offer. It’s right on the cusp of where we said we’d possibly maybe consider… which is maybe the hardest answer of all. Plus or minus the fact that we’d still have to figure out how to secure a mortgage (there’s some hoops that, after all of this, might still prove insurmountable) it’s the kind of answer that doesn’t disclude anything. It’s neither low enough that we just can’t resist nor high enough that it’s simply out of our reach. It’s right in the range of forcing us to decide how much we want this house that we don’t want that much.
I mean – I guess that’s a good thing. Having options is better than not having options. It’s just that there’s some things I just … frankly… want to throw money at and then not think about. Housing is definitely one of those things.
It’s a shame that with a week full of satisfying gigs, a similar weekend eyeballing us in the future, and with beautiful weather whooshing around us in the backyard, that uncertainty forces our brains into motion, keeping us from being able to simply enjoy the day.
Gotta think too much.
Oh, and also now that the ankle I injured at Musikfest is finally feeling pretty solid, solid-enough that I didn’t really think about it at all this past weekend, I slipped into the storm drain outside my house (ha, see, innocent sentence, suddenly thinking about how it’s NOT “my” house) while unloading the last of our gear, injuring my OTHER ankle.
Nauseating pain, sitting in the open trunk of my Saturn, handing instruments to Kristen because damn it, I can’t carry things up the stairs… by today I’m feeling a lot better, but last night, iced and elevated, drugged and dirty, I was dreading even being able to stay upright for my much-needed post-gig shower.
I woke up to a dream that rats were chewing on my foot. The pain wasn’t as bad once I was cautious (and, to my great relief there were no bite marks) but that palpable panicky dread has been with me much of the day, undermining my enjoyment of that Lovely breeze I hear whispering out back.