breathing his oxygen

This morning I made coffee and forgot to add any water. Doesn't make such a great cup of coffee that way.

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We finally got a letter from the builder of our new house (the new house that is actually brand new and located in THIS city, and which we have to sell so we can afford to fix up the house in Vancouver). It said this house will be ready for us to take possession on September 25th.

I spent a bit of time organizing to have water, electricity, and gas run to the house - a necessity even though we never plan to live in it. It's very odd to discover that selling this house feels more difficult than I expected it to. There are a lot of happy memories tied up in this house even though we never even lived in it. We had so much fun choosing our paint colours and flooring and cupboards and countertops...

Selling the house we're living in feels weird too. We never did anything to make this house ours; it was pure spec from top to bottom, beige beige and beige. Monochromatic and neutral as can be, designed to appeal to the widest possible market. I don't feel attached to its beige-ness. But we've lived happily here. Yes we have. And the attachment I feel isn't to the physical, but to the memories.

Shawn and the Vancouver realtor have been blah-blahing about our house there, about how rare and amazing it is to find a house on a third of an acre, about how pieces of land like that don't exist anymore, how much it will be worth in five years or ten years or twenty. That kind of thing doesn't matter to me. The only time the dollar value of a house matters is when you're either trying to buy it or to sell it. The rest of the time it only matters how much you love it.

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It's been raining a lot the last couple of days. Most of the time rain seems so refreshing and sweet. But for some reason it's starting to make me feel glum. I think it's just that I'm missing Shawn.

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