pied-à-terre

writing publicly is usually a bad idea when one has been partaking of the ol' drinky poo.

the lamenting usually discloses much more than the writer ever intended, and is sure to be the cause of more than one embarrassing moment on the event.

thank god for the delete option, because once you've re-read the entry in a sober state, you're sure to find that you are a complete idiot while intoxicated, and so fervently attempt to stop anyone from noticing this.

I personally could give a fuck less right now.

while I'm not a complete mess, nor even drunk per se, I am definitely impaired.  usually common sense would dictate that I should forgo the following ingression, but again, I don't particularly care much.

what I'd really like to talk about is this house I've been obsessing over.

those of you that have talked with me recently have probably heard speak of this, and are also probably likely as not tired of hearing about it.  If this is the case, please feel free to stop reading... 

now.

It has a ridiculous charm that I cannot evade.  I'm drawn to it in the way that a fat fuck might be drawn to a doughnut.  I cannot stop thinking about it until I have it or it becomes unavailable.

All night long at work, which was quite busy for me, I couldn't stop daydreaming about it, and would tell anyone who would listen about its wily allure.

the bizarre bit is that I haven't even seen the inside.  sure there are pictures, but nothing can substitute the tour.

it's quirky, there's no denying that, and while it seems to superficially match my particular personality, that's not the only reason why I want it so badly.

It's not in a good neighborhood.  not terrible, but not good.  It's on the corner of a main, busy street.  the kitchen, while always such an important feature to me is not as I would prefer it to be, and yet I am willing to ignore all of these flaws and move right in immediately.

It strikes me that this is a dangerous preoccupation.  a trap as it were.

I imagine demon-like creatures eating my soul like psychic vampires, never sated.  I envision naughty malevolent beings that like to throw my belongings across the room.  evil bastards that will never let me sleep or have peace.  a preconceived sanctuary that will prove to be a most frightening place.

still, I feel that I absolutely must have it.

I am attempting to make arrangements to see the property in question.  shawn, as always, is constantly accommodating and repeats for the millionth time over the course of our relationship that I may do as I please.

it's a good thing because I would do it anyway.

I desperately need to enter this space, and I'm not entirely sure why.  I may find after entering that the energy and layout inside is intolerable, but still, I sally forth.

by the by... this particular property has been sold and sold and sold again quite frequently over the last few years.  this strikes me as unusual and may be the source of my anxiety.

anxiety or not though... 

I am intrigued, engrossed, suspicious, absorbed, and in pursuit of chancy grounds.

and I remain hopeful, hopeful, hopeful