We move into our rental next week. It’s about a third of the size of the house. The question of the week seems to be, “Aren’t you sad?”
“Hells no.”
“But you guys built this house.”
“And at some point we might build another, although I doubt it. It’s a huge pain in the ass.”
I finally figured out why I’m indifferent to the house. I am completely infatuated with new beginnings, with all the endless possibilities. (This has to be the writer in me.) We are now in a position we could move practically anywhere. I have given serious consideration to about five different states and at least three different countries.
My latest obsession is moving to the US Virgin Islands. It’s totally doable, with a little planning, and a budget. OK, OK a lot of planning and a super tight budget, (milk $7.00 a gallon) but still doable. I scour websites and blogs about employment, housing and schools, shooting off emails to Mr. K with all kinds of VI info.
Mr. K is a wise man. He lets that horse run. His willingness to buy into my crazy is one of the reasons I love him. If I come up with a feasible plan, he will execute. Most of the time, I manage to see reason before it gets too far. But this is a different world altogether. All the doors may not open, but they are certainly unlocked.
