Buying a house has been the most harrowing, confusing, frustrating, hard-fought, demoralizing, exhilarating, nerve-wracking, crazymaking experience of my life. My loan officer — for whom who I have Kerry V to thank — called my purchase a miracle, and said she’d “given birth to a Turner loan,” which only came to fruition less than 24 hours before the actual deadline to close. For some completely masochistic reason ($8,000 in sweet Obamabucks!), I chose to buy a house at roughly the same time I took over additional duties at work, meaning every already threadbare membrane of my sanity was stretched to its limit, and sometimes beyond. I’m a little twitchy lately, all right? Let’s just pretend it’s endearing.
I have learned a lot about real estate and home financing during this four-month journey, but not nearly enough to say I really understand any bit of it. Far as I can tell, regulations change every time a Fannie Mae intern farts. My parents are convinced that I had to jump through so many hoops because Barack Obama hates the working class and wants to make sure to fuck them as ungently as possible. But they can think whatever they want because they helped get me through this. They stood strong when I was ready to buckle.
So many of my friends were there for me with their own stories and experiences too. But honestly? Not a single person’s experience is like any other’s. Every single story I heard was different from the last. And mine’s no exception. I’m thinking maybe there’s no standard way to buy a house these days. If there ever was.
Anyway. It all worked out. I’ve got keys. I’ve got stacks of paper declaring the property mine. I’ve got a week to move.
And then that mortgage payment comes calling December 1.
Twitch.