Friends:
Ain’t nothing worse than folks gettin’ all up in your flow. This shit is mine, so you can go on and put it back where you found it. Thaaat’s right. So anyway. Realtor-dude was alarmingly punctual yesterday, a full 24 hours, in fact. He arrived to survey the manse and surrounding estate and declared that he would like to list it for far more than I had expected. I thought I’d be breaking even, man. So what I’m hoping is that the first lovely fam-bly to cross our threshold next Saturday at the open house will be clutching fistfuls of cash, and want to deal on the spot. I’m down. I’m even thinking that for the added $100-or-so court fee, we could just legally assume each others’ names. That way they get our mortgage, which has a balance substantially less than what they’re paying, I walk away with a huge chunk of tax-free income, and we avoid the $11,000 in closing costs. We could maybe split the difference. Done! It’s hard not to make plans with that amount of money. All I know is that I will be absolutely and completely debt-free, I will have a large chunk to invest wisely, and that finally it will be time to retire the lil’ rig and maybe think about that truck. Poor Chico. We have had some good times, we have. He’s not as traitorous as I make him out to be. I put 7,000 miles on him in 3 weeks last year. I’ve abused him. He’s been slept in, dined in, and been the proud host of some damn fine lovin’. It’ll be hard to part ways. Especially with the sunroof. NTS: Find out if pickup trucks can have sunroofs. Possibly reconsider. So now the hard part of the house-on-the-market bit is that it has to be perfect, or at least inoffensive enough for someone to want to consider living here. We have to make it look big and open and sparse, which means packing most of our belongings into boxes and stashing them (in my case, at the parents’). You’re supposed to make people believe you live like Martha Stewart; and not the old Martha, but the one with new prison-austere sensibilities. ‘Honestly, my bookcases have always had a single neatly-framed photo gracing each shelf. Not, for example, books. People don’t really live here.’ I just packed my filing basket away so I could clear my desk of all traces of productivity, and leave it almost bare. I don’t work in this spot, I merely meditate upon its chi. Speaking of which, I have some theories for my recent rapid weight loss, which was unintentional but not unwanted:- I meditate every night on two things: healthfulness and serenity1. I will not tell you my mantra, because you’ll just steal it, fucker. Anyway, if you meditate for 20-30 minutes before bed, you notice that you can slow your heart rate to a crawl, and that it takes you a good 5 minutes to emerge from that state. It’s an incredible feeling. Also, I practice meditative breathing while doing cardio. Go ahead and laugh, but I can drop my heart rate 20 points but quick. So far, I’m 100% stroke-free.
- Quitting caffeine. This seems counterintuitive, I know. However, caffeine messes with your blood sugar, and that messes with the way your body stores fat. Also, I had to quit, once my sister explained it to me in somewhat vague terms: You’re an adrenaline addict. If you don’t slow down, you’re going to die. So apparently… I was going to die? Or something. I quit. Apart from being depressed about having water as the only beverage choice at restaurants, I’ve been fine. It’s kinda funny, really. No sugar, no meat, no rice, pasta, potatoes, eggs, regular bread, and now no caffeine. It’s easier to list the things I do consume: produce, non-animal protein, whole grains, microwave popcorn, and vegan pizza from Luce. Awesome.
- I haven’t felt much like eating anyway. I’ve heard that’ll do it, too.
Jenni P.S. You, uh, spelled that wrong.
1On a very regular basis, I think to myself, ‘my dantien hurts’. You don’t find that half as funny as I do, do you?