I used to have a house. It was on lease, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep her. I liked staying in that old house how fish like living in water–it’s not great but it beats the alternative until I sprout a pair of lungs. Her floorboards would creak in the night and the furnace would making pops and cracks–signs that things were not quite right.
While I had that house, I never could get used to sleeping in that old house. She was far too large, too empty for me to truly feel homely in. And since moving out, I fear she’s only gotten larger and emptier.
Yes, I moved out. The old house, for all her character and antiqued charm, could not house me any more. I had grown tired of her half-way creaking, cracking and popping. I had in me neither the knowhow nor the means to fix her of her aches and pains. Second owner, be warned. This can’t possibly be good for resale.
I like my new place. Much warmer.