My deepest aspiration: possibly someone else's worst nightmare
April 9, 2010 A few days ago the advertisement for my dream acreage was taken off of the internet, which means that some asshole bought it.
SOME ASSHOLE BOUGHT IT.
The standing residence was a 1930's (approximately-- what the hell do I know?) two-story farmhouse. A handy-man special, code for "crusty". Due to my impending poorness, I would have ripped up the 1965, diarrhea green carpet, sanded the original floors, and painted them a high-gloss black. Or maybe a matte white. And in the old-school kitchen, with the window that looked out towards the Alberta prairies, and the cupboards that reached up to the ceiling, I would have been all like, "please, please, PLEASE, Papi, can we put down black and white checkered linoleum?" And Bear would have been like, "fuck, babe, I don't care, whatever makes you happy." And in that moment I would think back to all my ex-boyfriends who would have never agreed to black and white checkered linoleum, and I would put my hands on my hips and giggle to myself, evil-like.
To prevent the crusty farmhouse from becoming a money-pit, I would have called Mike Holmes from the TV show Holmes on Homes, and he would have flown his crew out from Ontario and fixed the pipes, and electrical, and the mold problem, and possibly re-shingled the roof. All he'd want in repayment is a snuggle with my miniature pony, Hump, because true richness is richness of the heart.
Throughout the decades, we would have slowly re-vamped our old farmhouse that sat on 15+ acres of land with an oversized barn to house my herd of miniature ponies. Media would have started hounding me for interviews with Hump after his short stint on Holmes on Homes, but to protect Hump from media whoredom and the consequent temptation of cocaine use, I would have only agreed to the highest paying promotions and used the extra income to supplement my night job, which, I may add, would have been only a short drive from our farm.
When I eventually became a famous writer, or made any money from writing at all, or Bear and I won the lottery, which is definitely one of our life objectives as a couple, I would have quit my night job and spent my days writing and gardening and baking goodies to stock in the basement freezer next to our collection of weapons and ammo as we anticipated the zombie apocalypse.
In retrospect, if I lived on my dream acreage, I don't think I'd even hope for the apocalypse anymore. If that's not passion, I don't know what is.
If only the seller had held off for another five years so we could have saved for the down payment. But since it's listed price was on par with what my condo was worth three years ago, I am not surprised that it's gone.
Just let me get in the fetal position for a minute so I can cry.
For the first time in many years, I am digging up my once-buried dreams, partly in thanks to now sharing my life with a man who shares the same dreams, but also because I've stopped denying myself the ownership of possessing such dreams.
The year 2010 has not only been panning out as a gentle intro into the zombie apocalypse (two more years, guys!), but also the year that I've started embracing my own worthiness and the possibilities of life.
What are your dreams?
acreage, aspiration, home ownership in humour, inspiration, reflections, story
Reader Comments (6)
Hahaha, last week I was telling Matt how I want to sand these shitty old wood floors and paint them matte charcoal, and then the walls a burnt orange. When I said, "What do you think?" he's all, "I don't care, whatever you want."
I want an acreage too, but instead of miniature horses, I will just go to every animal shelter and say "give me all of your kitties!!!"
Hahaha :)
And I think you just described my idea of heaven. On a related note, you should upload more photos of Bearface!
I will do so once you start calling your bf Bearface and then tell me about his reaction.
YOU HAVE YOURSELF A DEAL. Although he doesn't read the blog much, so I will have to refer to him as Bearface in real life.
Yep, I just used the term "real life".
That works out since that's what I meant anyway.