There is not a single thing about selling a house that I like. There aren’t even any aspects that I am indifferent to. I loathe every step of this process.
We got our inspection. We have termites.
It’s like my house has head lice.
So, now I have to spend more money that I don’t have. They are asking for a small list of repairs. We’re agreeing to all but one. Wish us luck that they accept because I don’t want to start all over again.
Originally, I thought about writing a post listing the good things about the house selling process and I literally could not come up with anything.
I can, however, come up with 13 things worse than selling a house.
We’re going to eliminate all the biggies like genocide, famine, cancer, president yam head, school shootings, and Nickelback.
They’re still not all that bad, once you add perspective:
Living in a place you dislike is worse than selling a house. I don’t dislike our house or where we live, but we have lived in some shitty places. There were rats in the first apartment complex Randy and I lived in. And the hallways smelled like grease and curry.
Performance reviews at work. If you don’t take into account how much longer selling a house takes, then this one totally works. Holy shit, what if performance reviews took as long as selling a house? Stephen King should write a book about that. Horrifying.
Getting a root canal. Fuck root canals.
Small talk. I would sell 10 houses if that got me out of all small talk for the rest of my life.
Being terrified every time you here sirens.
Being bombarded every day with news of the criminal activity of the president.
Wearing super uncomfortable shoes.
Trying to pluck a white eyebrow hair and accidentally pulling out a bunch of brown ones because you can’t really see what you are doing and now you have a bald spot. Okay, that one is not really worse than selling a house, but still…really annoying.
Arguing conspiracy theories with your young adult child and wondering where the fuck you went wrong.
Worrying about the inevitable robot invasion.
Getting a song like Afternoon Delight or the theme from the Banana Splits stuck in your head for days.
Not being able to fall asleep until you can remember the name of that one restaurant you used to go to near Turkeyfoot Road. They had good chicken wings.
Obsessively checking the account balances of your credit cards and feeling that cold, sick little drop in your stomach.
I would rather go back and repaint all the walls than go through the selling part.
I am leaning very hard on “this too shall pass” right now. I think I’m going to need to re-watch Buffy again. Already. I just finished a few months ago. Usually, there are at least a few years in between marathons. Buffy is my last defense against anxiety. Buffy calms my head down.
Barleycorn’s. That’s the name of the restaurant. For all that is fucking holy, that was driving me insane.