My Opinion

See this photo? That was about 15 months ago. I was at the Full Moon Party, an insane night of debauchery on a small island off the coast of southern Thailand. It’s a backpacker’s dream and a parent’s nightmare.

In this photo I have glow-in-the-dark stars painted down my arm. I’m drinking out of a bucket. I’m wearing flip flops. My legs are sandy. I’m sunburned. I’m wearing a dress that probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. I’m wearing a bag that a mugger will rip open with a switch blade a few hours after this photo is taken. I have random entry-to-the-island bracelets on my wrist. And I am really f’ing happy. The photo was probably taken some time around midnight. Under a full moon. In Thailand.

Right now it’s midnight in North Carolina. I just spent the last few hours paying bills and trying to organize some form of a budget for “Sarah the homeowner.” I’m wearing freshly washed pajamas. There are no stars painted on my arms.

Is it weird that the idea of buying a house doesn’t make me feel happy or excited?  It makes me feel terrified and trapped. I know this is ridiculous. I understand that I’m an adult. I can’t go to parties under the full moon in exotic foreign countries for the rest of my life. I know that buying a house is a good financial decision. I know that continuing to live in Charlotte and work where I work is a good financial decision. I know that moving out of my current house is a good decision.  But then there’s this little matter of my heart.

And my heart hurts every time I think about making this kind of commitment. My heart feels heavy when I consider things like home insurance and “waiting for the market to change.” I know I should be so grateful that I can buy a house. I know I should be so happy that I even have a job.

But here’s the thing. Maybe people are different. Maybe some people are meant to make wise financial decisions and live in houses and pay home insurance. And maybe some aren’t. Maybe some are meant to do other things. Things that involve them being sandy. And wearing flip flops and unwashed clothes. And maybe the people who are meant to be sandy can buy the houses and work in offices and pay the bills, but maybe doing that makes them feel like they’re only biding their time until their real lives start. Until one day when they realize their real lives have passed them by.

Uplifting thought, right? So, I guess I’ll see which category I fall under. I think I already know. But, for now, I’ll buy the house. And be happy there. And maybe, sometime in the future, I’ll sell the house and be sandy again.

So, in case you didn’t know, here is my life plan:

Purchase smooth red miniature dachshund and name her Lady Rosalind Crosland. Call her Rosie for short.

Purchase smooth red piebald miniature dachshund and name him Sir William Shakespeare Crosland. Call him Shakespeare for short.

Breed Rosie and Shakespeare, creating millions of slightly-pretentious-wannabe-British-playwright dachshund babies.

Resign myself to being crazy dachshund lady for the rest of my life. Possibly invest in trailor home, chain-link kennels, curlers, cigarettes, and moo moos.

Unfortunately, this plan came to a screeching halt tonight when I was doing some internet searching for Shakespeare and found him.  There he is, above, at his home in Austin, Texas. The problem?  Shakespeare has already been purchased by some idiots who have deemed to name him Tucker of all things.

I’m going to have to rethink some things.

I am sorry that Michael Jackson died too young. I really am. It’s sad whenever anyone dies before they live to old age. I also understand that he was an amazing performer and dramatically changed the music industry during his time as a part of it. However, I am so tired of this ridiculous idol worshipping with his death. And this little screen shot from CNN above is precisely why. SIX freaking articles about MJ followed several down about ONE article about 8 U.S. soldiers dying.  Everything about this makes me angry.

I have Google Analytics set up on my blog. I know. I’m a loser. Whatever. I honestly don’t check it that often, but whenever I do, I am always amused at the Google searches that led people to the blog. This one above though beats every other one ever as my favorite.

My dad recently gave me this photo of my grandmother. I love it. And not just because I think my grandmother is one of the most interesting, wonderful people I know. But also because every time I see this picture it makes me want to smile back at it.

At my parents house it is quiet. Like the kind of quiet where you hear bees buzzing around flowers and the thoughts in your head. I love living in a city. I like seeing tall buildings, hearing the sounds of my neighbors’ voices carrying through the backyard at night, and the knowledge that I could be to a sushi restaurant, an art museum, a theater, a coffee shop, or a concert in under five minutes.

But I have to say, spending the last two weekends with that kind of quiet has been nice. Oh, and also, the sunsets aren’t too shabby.