From an emotional distance, it's a wonderful house. The basement is huge, my daughters will have one half and I'll have the other. There's a backyard, soon to be populated by a grill and firepit. A big open living space that can easily fit a TV room and an office. My girls will finally each have their own room. And I'll have two bars.
But the place is slowly becoming a money pit because the previous owners treated their property like a toilet. And that's not entirely an exaggeration. Unfucking their horrors has absorbed the majority of my non-work life, except.....I'm also on day 10 out of 17 consecutive days with my daughters, alone. We all still love each other very much, but not one of us are mellow humans at this point in our lives.
Also I do work, which pays for all the above, kinda.
The key to managing the stress is dialing down the alcohol and dialing UP THE CAFFEINE. When I do drink whisky, I pair a glass of something tasty with whatever psychotronic-giallo-oddball film (100 minutes or less) that I can find on my streaming channels. Sitting down to take official tasting notes usually leads to looking at my schedule and email to see what I've forgotten to do today, checking the news (briefly, because fuck), and zoning out. Last night, I poured a 1975 Bushmills, which of course smelled fruitylicious but had oxidized into soap on the palate. So I dumped it out and went straight to a highball.
I hope you have enjoyed this extensive excuse. The reviews will continue but won't always post on the same days during the week. So it goes. Someday my life will get back into a rhythm. Oh, I forgot to mention I booked a springtime trip to Paris before I'd even considered buying a house. And the flight to CDG isn't too far away...
