My hopes have been dashed. My heart, broken. The house I want so badly doesn't want me.
We submitted a low-ball offer and, though we still haven't gotten a formal response, our Realtor gleaned from a talk with the seller's agent that he is unlikely to come down as low as we'd need him to go. It's no shock, really. Our offer was $100k below asking price. The problem is that my imagination went ahead and moved in anyway, throwing open the shutters and slapping down a dog-paw Welcome mat in the brick entryway.
My imagination is a sucker.
We're going to look at two more houses over the next couple of days, and there's one we've already seen that we may very well bid on. The latter is a perfectly lovely; it's solid and unique and full of amenities. It's just that it doesn't inspire any new feelings in me and it doesn't remind me of old ones.
I think the problem is that I'm spoiled. By The Partner. You see, he was the first person I fell in love with, and I got him. I never had to settle for anything less than the perfect man for me.
He totally skewed my perspective.
But he reminds me, too, that the perfect house for me is not necessarily the perfect house for our family. And what's perfect for us may not be all that evident, either. As a new mother/father/daughter combo, we're collectively clueless.
So we'll continue to do what we've been doing: trying to figure it all out. And hoping that when we fail miserably, we can have fun doing it.
Binky
I report to both of them. It's the best job I ever had.
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9 comments:
Don't worry. You'll figure it out. I truly believe that everything will fall into place at the right time. Hang in there!
Oh. I feel you. When we were buying our first house, we found one so perfect that when I walked in the door, it seemed as if it had been waiting for me, as if I had known its layout forever. Within three days I had imagined where every bit of furniture we owned would fit in the house, where our paintings and photographs would hang, which room would be the nursery, etc., etc. And, of course, we lost the house. I still live in the same town, and every time I pass by that house (which, given its size, would be WAY too small for us now that we have two kids), I feel a rush of anger and sadness.
Sorry it happened to you, too.
Sorry to hear about the house. You'll find one that suits all of you, and then you'll put your personal stamp on it.
btw, stupid freakin' Blogger. This is the first day in over a week that I can comment.
That stinks, I know how much you were looking forward to that house. If it makes you feel better, I found my perfect house this weekend, but we aer just not in a point where we can afford it yet. Maybe in 5 years, it will be on the market again.
Keep looking!
I feel the same way whenever I walk past a really expensive professional camera in the store and it doesn't magically strap itself in my car for the ride home. Stupid cameras.
You'll find it, babes.
well, shit. i am sorry to hear this. but what is true is the right door will open, and when you find your house, it'll all make sense about this one.
it's the waiting part that sucks.
this stinks, but I guess it's just part of the ball game. We finally found our house on the 3rd try, and though it wasn't the first one where we'd planned out the renovations, we're starting to have fun in dreaming what's next for this house.
The Partner is right. This house - I hate it. All new and fresh and normal. Ick.
But for us as a family, it is just right. No sharp corners. No lead paint. Plenty of room to play and bake cookies.
You'll find it.
But I am sorry your hopes were dashed. I know how that feels.
man, it is the WEIRDEST thing that I read your posts and then proceed to carry them around with me like snapshots, fuzzy around the edges, for days. I have perpetually thought of that groovy house since I read about it last week, and hoped against hope that you landed it. (I have a similar unrequited love affair occurring with an older, sexy house in the area that is way outta my league, er, pocketbook's reach. it's painful. it makes me feel hot and bothered. it reminds of the eighth grade. ick.)
anyway. I'm sorry, and I know how you feel. and I'm sorry.
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