![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
So, the house-hunting continues. Yesterday, the realtor showed us a lovely two-bedroom, two-bath home with wooden floors and lots of closet space. I adored it, but alas, the real-estate gurus have ordained that the asking price would consume too much of my estate to be feasible once the cost of upkeep was taken into account.
Today, we found a by-owner townhome that was a two-bedroom, two bath within walking distance of two grocery stores. the Embarq payment center, and the mall with a Borders. It's small-900 square feet-but Roomie and I aren't going to have children, so it's hardly the end of the world.
I'm just frustrated because as usual, my family is overruning my concerns in their rush to say that they've "taken care of" me. After looking at several houses today, my grandmother announced that she would be making a decision in the morning. Excuse me? It's my house and my fucking money; they're not contributing a cent, so why is it their decision to make at all? They won't be living there for the next thirty years. Of course, they don't believe me when I say I have no intention of moving ever again. They keep nattering about resale value and "upgrading" in a few years.
Dammit. I knew this would happen, and I knew I never should have called them, but I needed their expertise. I just wish they wouldn't break my back every time they offered me a hug. I'm tired and depressed, and right now I wish I wasn't a physically helpless freak who can't fight back when pinned to the floor.
At least there's Flack snark to cheer me up tomorrow.
Today, we found a by-owner townhome that was a two-bedroom, two bath within walking distance of two grocery stores. the Embarq payment center, and the mall with a Borders. It's small-900 square feet-but Roomie and I aren't going to have children, so it's hardly the end of the world.
I'm just frustrated because as usual, my family is overruning my concerns in their rush to say that they've "taken care of" me. After looking at several houses today, my grandmother announced that she would be making a decision in the morning. Excuse me? It's my house and my fucking money; they're not contributing a cent, so why is it their decision to make at all? They won't be living there for the next thirty years. Of course, they don't believe me when I say I have no intention of moving ever again. They keep nattering about resale value and "upgrading" in a few years.
Dammit. I knew this would happen, and I knew I never should have called them, but I needed their expertise. I just wish they wouldn't break my back every time they offered me a hug. I'm tired and depressed, and right now I wish I wasn't a physically helpless freak who can't fight back when pinned to the floor.
At least there's Flack snark to cheer me up tomorrow.
Tags: