A room of one’s own

Sountrack to this post:   “I Want Everything” by Cracker (remember them from the ’90s?)            ***          Part of me wants to rent forever, being able to pick up and leave for the rest of the world whenever I want. The rest of me wants to settle down in a home where I can paint, customize, get to know my neighbors as part of my extended family, and thrust down the roots that I have not nourished in soil in a decade. Half of me wants to stay here in the Cleveland area, close enough to our families that I’ll always be nearby when needed and where the cost of living is fantastic in relation to the resources we have here, but the other half wants to live in New York, Portland, and a foreign country before settling down.           ***          I’m not going to lie. I spend hours each week on realty websites, and sometimes I even turn down side streets on my way home to look at the dozens of homes for sale and fantasize that I live in one of them. I know exactly what I’d do with the yard, exactly how I would set up the kitchen, exactly what colors the bedrooms and dining room would be painted.  I’ve toured new construction condos nearby, and fallen in love with bath tubs, french balconies, and walk-in closets. I have had a “grownup” job for almost four full years. I am making significant dents in my debts. It’s a buyer’s market, as all of the desperate people trying to sell homes keep screaming.           ***          Then I snap back into reality and wonder who I am kidding. I remember that I have moved ten times in the last ten years, never staying in the same place more than two years (fear of commitment, anyone?). I get rid of the I’m-paying-things-down rationale and point out to myself that between grad school, my credit card, and my car loan I am in five figures of debt. We’re in a recession (if you don’t think we’re there yet, wake up and smell the reality), and school funding from state and national governments gets cut year after after year - how do I know I will even have a job in two or three years? And I realize how much it hurts CJ that I do this. He is in grad school and working very hard. He is better with money than I am, and I know it must drive him crazy to see me want something so badly that we’re just not ready for. I feel very at home with him here, but the condo/house thing won’t leave me alone. I know I obsess over it, and I know it’s not realistic at the moment.           ***          But isn’t fantasy an important part of life? Doesn’t the sheer idea that some ideal could become reality someday keep thousands of people per day from throwing themselves off of bridges? Imagine, being able to buy furniture that I know exactly what it matches and where it will stay for years… imagine knowing that I’m in control of what happens in my dwelling — what gets fixed,  how safety precautions are taken, how decor changes over time. I could have a yoga/meditation room if there was an extra bedroom. I could take long hot baths to relax after a hard week at work. I could have friends and family visit and really truly be able to accommodate them. I could know exactly where everything is, because nothing would be stored in boxes from the last time I moved. I could… I don’t know, have a permanent home. I love my apartment and neighborhood, but our landlord’s lack of concern about recent crime in our building is scary. I keep thinking I’d feel safer in my own home.            ***          At the same time though, the idea of having a home terrifies me. I have no memory of my parents being happy together, and one of their main sources of fighting when I was a kid was our house. They had bought it in 1977 or so with the intention of fixing it up and putting on an addition (it was built during the Civil War and needed some serious work), but spent twelve years fighting (and I mean screaming at the top of their lungs for hours a day, throwing each other around, blah blah blah) intensely over exactly what to do, when to do it, how much to pay for it, and who should do it. By the time I was in sixth or seventh grade and the construction commenced, it was such a source of stress that things got worse. By the time it was finished, all it accomplished was building more bad memories and tension into an already unhappy house. I seriously have recurring nightmares that I burn the place down, but at the same time I love it so much I also have recurring nightmares that my dad sells it and other people who have NO right to be there move in.          ***           What can I say. I’m conflicted when it comes to the idea of “home.” I have no immediate solutions, I just needed to vent.          ***            Time to go back to my usual realty websites for my simultaneously literal and figurative search for a home… I think this might be some sort of freaky addiction. Sigh.