The apartment we currently live in is above a small, cute shop. The thermostat for the apartment that we live is in the small, cute shop. That means that the landlord gets to, essentially, decide when our heat turns on and off. While they have been very good about keeping us warm enough, I've been extremely thankful for my two big, fluffy, red blankets. The other morning, long before I'd had my first cup of coffee, I sleepily wondered when the heat would turn on at the house. Then I realized that the heat would turn on when I (we) told it to. I (we) would be in charge of the heat. I will curl up next the radiators, probably still wrapped in a giant red blanket, and laugh manically. Oh the power.
I submitted a change of address to the post office, and got utilities transferred over. The wonderfully nice lady at the utilities office called buying a first house a very good kind of stress, and wished us luck on the closing.
My boss texted me to tell me that I have a beautiful burning bush outside my house. She called it my house. I did a very small happy dance. It was very small because the apartment is filled with boxes, and if my happy dances get too large I am in danger of knocking something over.
We close in a week. In one week and one hour. We will have a house.
I looked up the house online. It is now listed as, "Not for sale." That's right. 'Cause it's my house.
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