Can I just say that trying to buy a house is stressful! I’m almost certain that we aren’t going to get the house that I love because the seller is not in a must-sell situation so she’s being a bit demanding for the current housing market. I don’t care how cute I think her house is, momma didn’t raise a fool and I refuse to overpay in this market. So, we’re going to counter her counter offer with one just a smidge higher than our original offer (which I think was quite generous to begin with), which she’ll probably turn down so we’ll have to find a rental. Oh joy of joys. I think I will task the Irishman with that job…and then probably take it over myself a mere 12 hours after I’ve asked him to do it. I’m entirely too predictable.
In between all of my house hunting ridiculousness, I’m still training for my triathlon, which is now only a month away! It doesn’t help (or maybe it does) that exercise is my main stress reliever. I came home from the gym the other day only to find myself changing from my cycling shoes to my running shoes and heading back out the door. I was quite literally running away from everything I had to do.
I’ve also been cooking a lot more since cooking is therapeutic in its own way. The Irishman’s friends benefit when my stress levels are higher since I cook and bake more things that we could possibly eat in a week. So, I bake dozens of muffins and cookies and cakes and then I send them out the door with him. The other thing I love doing is chopping vegetables. I like the rhythm of it. However, I can’t pawn off chopped veggies quite as easily as I can baked goods and 5 lbs. of chopped onions will really stink up your fridge.
Last on my list of therapies is wine. Lots of wine. Interestingly enough, my father was the one who introduced me to this particular stress reliever. I remember that when I was 20 years old (err, let’s make that 21 for the purposes of this story) and I was getting ready to go on a week-long trip by myself to Washington D.C., I was having some anxiety over it and in his quiet way, my dad brought me a glass of Cabernet and said, “just drink this.” Yup, it worked wonders. Unfortunately, I have a child and I teach an 8am class, so losing myself in a bottle like the character of an old country song just isn’t in the cards these days. Plus, have you ever tried to run with a hangover? I don’t recommend it.
So, I’ve been running and baking and writing rambling posts WAY past my bedtime (seriously, it’s like 9:45!) wishing the next month away. I’m sure that we’ll eventually find a place to live and rent our own house and hire a moving company and put deposits for cable/phone/utilities/internet, but in the meantime, the distance between here and there seems quite far.