Blogcoven

When particularly frustrated, I will sometimes complain about the fact that I will probably be the last person I know to buy a house. This has a variety of personal and financial reasons behind it. Today I learned that this might not be a bad thing. For I have purchased a car, and lo it did cause ulcer-like pain in my mid regions.

This is not my first such experience. I purchased Max, the car I drove across the country, all by me onesies, but in the same way a woman conveniently forgets what trauma childbirth involves and proceeds to continue having kids thanks to an evolutionarily tuned mechanism of repression and optimism I seem to have forgotten how nervewracking it is. It might have been this bad before, but then again that last time didn’t involve being laughed off the lot when visiting dealers to find cars made before 2000. It also didn’t involve real cash — Max’s previous owner wanted a cashier’s cheque. This experience was not so comfortable, the best aspect of it being that it is now over for better or for worse.

I have it on good authority that purchasing a house is even more brain-meltingly ulcer-making than purchasing a car. (Orders of magnitude more so than purchasing a 12-year-old de-pimped coupe held together by hope and the end of an ill-conceived paint job.) For this reason, I will take it as a Good Sign that I will not be capable of thinking about purchasing a house (or even a new car) in the near future. My constitution may not withstand the force.