:::VICTORY DANCE::::

I HAVE A HOUSE.



If I had an HTML reference-book handy, I would make that bold, underlined, in a bigger font. In fact, once I unpack my HTML reference book, I will update this post to do just that.



I HAVE A HOUSE I HAVE A HOUSE I HAVE A HOUSE I HAVE A HOUSE I HAVE A HOUSE. Tengo una casa, j'ai une maison, Ich habe ein Haus, Eu tenho uma casa. (Thanks, BabelFish. But why no Finnish? I bet that would look SO cool in Finnish.)



Those of you who are wealthy probably don't think this is as big a deal as I'm making of it. Well, it IS a big deal. It's a motherfucking HUGE deal, actually--not five years ago I was a fucked-up, grief-addled, nearly-unemployed, barely-employable and barely-functional heroin addict; two years ago I had stuck myself in a sick relationship with an abusive, faithless, amoral, manipulative asshole of a boyfriend who spent FAR more of my income than I ever realized and contributed nothing but drama, heartache, and enormous bills--and now I have a HOUSE, you bastards, and I did it ALMOST on my own--I can't ever say I ever did anything COMPLETELY on my own, because I have to consider where I got the ability and the belief to know I COULD do things on my own--but as close as one can come to doing something completely on one's own, I DID THIS. CR didn't stop me; my grief for JP didn't stop me; Tim didn't stop me and Dave didn't stop me and the bankruptcy didn't stop me and the heroin didn't stop me and my mother didn't stop me and her raggedy-ass judgemental pack-of-racists FAMILY didn't stop me and all the disapproval in the world didn't stop me and now that house is MINE, the keys are MINE, the roof and the walls and the windows and the floors are MINE and for those of you who never had to strive for anything or overcome anything or beat down the voices inside you and outside that said "You can't" and "you won't" and "you shouldn't", to those of you who have never had to fight to get what you want because all around you are people who say you're foolish to want it and inside you is a voice that says you don't deserve to have it--to all of you people who have no idea what that's like, you ALSO don't know what it's like to look straight into the face of that "you CAN'T" and to tell it "I DID, motherfucker." And to anyone who doesn't know that feeling, then I have to say I pity you--it's the best feeling in the world, better than heroin by miles.



I have a million things to do now, of course; pack up all my shit here, and pick out things in the garage to take with me--ladders and yard tools and the like--change my address on all my bills and mail and such, and figure out how I'm going to get mail when I have a locking gate and the only mailbox is attached to the house; and figure out how I'm going to survive when all my money has been spent. I'm entirely flabbergasted, really, by the number of things I have to do--particularly when I've been told that the odds are currently against my getting my week of half-days next week (How can they tell me I "can't" take vacation time? It's MY vacation time, isn't it? And there's no time any better or worse than now--it's not as if I have a "slow" season! But I digress...) BUT-- I have three more days living in this room with its twin bed, no storage space, and precious little ventilation; three more days in this cable-less house under a microscope, all my actions and words and intonations analyzed to the point of madness. Three more days, and I will be in MY house, with LJ, free to do whatever I want, whenever and wherever I want.



However, some insight into my personality: faced with an entire universe of freedom, an infinity of possible choices and the ability to do anything I please, my plan for Sunday is this: get some food in the house, plug in the TV and excavate an armchair, position A in front of B, a Pepsi in my hand and a bowl of popcorn at my feet, and watch the Winston Cup race.



I am entitled to be pathetic for one day, I believe. I have the rest of my life to be industrious and amazing.