…it’s either sadness or euphoria

briskly, have to move briskly after class, back to the loft to pick up the car and drive over for the house closing.

Hello, real estate agent? I think I am on the wrong road (on the wrong planet?). You’re all waiting for me? Sorry, sorry.

How many people does it take to sign a bunch of papers? Who bothers listening to an explanation of what they are about anyway? They say older people. Older people wont sign anything without going over minutely every word. They’re terrified of being scammed. Me, the attorney, I never read any of it. Bring it on and let’s be done with it.

Presents, I get presents. And profuse thank yous. Hey, for what? I did not build the place! For hustling like crazy to get it ready on time and for the fantastic cleaning job you did. (I did do a fantastic cleaning job. The place sparkled when I said good bye to it last night.)

We can’t wait to move in. And the neighbors! So friendly! Yes, definitely, but I did ask them last night if they would love you more than me and they promised no never in a million years, so don’t hold your breath.

My real estate agent gives me a gift certificate for a day at the spa to relax after all this moving craziness. Today, for the first time in over a month, I am not driving any boxes over anywhere.

I zip to Whole Foods in the spiffy (leased from a friend) car that I am loving so much. It is NEVER going back to its original owner. I decided. I will hide it and its awesome sun roof which I opened up, warm air rushing in, loud noise of the radio rushing out.

(Meanwhile, the van stands deserted, actually, unbeknownst to him, right close to this guy’s house. Someday I will get around to giving it away to some kid who wants to take it apart with the intention of never putting it together again. Inside, I hid Mr. B. I feel a little like a parent who has left a child abandoned in a hot car. But I refuse to bring Mr. B to the loft until they finish putting up a bike rack.)

I alternate between pangs of such deep nostalgia that it overshadows all else and feelings of euphoria. The house project is complete. The new family loves it. I am free of land. I am free of repairs and gutters and rakes and mice and older appliances and a super old roof, of three bathrooms to clean and salt blocks to replace. Of snow removal, of creepy people-eating vines growing among bushes and plants, of a lawn that looks like the Mojave Desert, of empty rooms holding tight memories and little else.

At Whole Foods, I run into Peder. Twenty-five years ago Peder sold us our condo – our initiation into home ownership. Freaky coincidence to see him today. I wanted to say – hey you! I am done with being a homeowner. One condo and three houses later, I am done. What a ride!

hey, maybe I should introduce a weekly feature...

People like regularity. Maybe I mean a different type than described here. I mean regularly appearing blog events, as in blog of the week, or if it’s Saturday, it must be market day, or Monday weigh in, or whatever else you want to feature on your blog to keep that returning audience curiously checking in.

I have thought of doing something on a regular basis. Of course, I am likely to forget about it one day and I’ll feel like a failure. What a loser, couldn’t even remember to put in her Polish Joke of the Week. [BTW, here’s one, via Saul: A Polish immigrant goes to the DMV to apply for a driver's license. He has to take an eyesight test. The examiner shows him a card with the lettersC Z J W I X N O S T A C Z. "Can you read this?" the examiner asks. "Read it?" the Polish guy replies, "I know the guy."]

So maybe I am not cut out to do something predictable and steady. Okay, I know I am terrible at predictable and steady. Still, I am tempted. Several ideas have occurred to me. Vice of the Week is one, where I describe in great detail the sinfulness I indulged in that particular week and ask readers to share some of their own failings and transgressions.

Or richest food consumed in the last seven days, with a photo of grossly fatty meats or over-frosted desserts sampled by me.

Or CD listened to in the course of the week with the greatest number of repetitions with an explanation of the deranged state of mind that lead me to select that particular one.

Or I could recall the most interesting conversation I had in the past week and reveal all fascinating aspects of it, putting everyone on notice that if you talk to me in the week to come, you may be the chosen one (or not, making you feel, well, boring).

I’m thinking about it. The semester is steadily progressing, tomorrow -- a new season begins. Time to play!