Designer Stresses

So we're moving (hence the Estate Agents post earlier on).  And not just moving, but DOWNSIZING.  Yes, DOWNSIZING. That's downsizing. I know!

Yeah... no, I wish!

When The Girl and I moved in here nearly 7 years ago, I knew we wouldn't probably be able to stay in a house of this size for much longer than 12 months tops; the heating of the massive front room/dining room alone costs a fortune ... three radiators in one room to me is not just a luxury it's obscene extravagance and I'm having none of that.  This is a Local House for Local People. We'll have no Opulence Here.

Anyway, getting back to the move.  It's supposed to be on the list of the MOST Stressful things a person can do in Life.  Along with:
2. Divorce 3. Bereavement 4. Redundancy 5. Changing Job 6. Losing Teeth.
Okay then I made No.6 up, but I think losing teeth is VERY stressy personally, and this is also something I shall be doing along with moving house.  So double stress.

I always seem to be doing double stresses. A bit like trying to orchestrate a Quickstep and Modern Ballet combo but with slightly less panache.

Last time it was moving house and Bereavement as my dad had died and that was WHY we moved - the money that my brother and I shared after dad's house was sold would've meant that I'd have lost my single parent benefits and tax credits etc if I'd kept it in my bank, so after a very nice phone call to the Government Offices, we agreed my best option was to be sensible and plough my inheritance into property.  So we moved from our lovely buijou little 2-up 2-down terrace with the Tardis garden (it was bigger than the house - seriously) to this 1950's 3-bed semi which, although was in a 'much sought-after' location, needed tons of stuff doing to it.  So we moved in, had it double glazed, re-wired, got the garage propped back up, had a boiler put in, soffits, fascias (whatever they are) new kitchen, new sofa and settled back to enjoy the marvels of a real open fire in a proper sized grown-up living room.

But I never warmed to it.  See what I did there?  Although we were in a house, this place  never really properly felt like 'home'.  I say to people, "I'm going home" but really what I mean is "I'm going back to the place I live" not the place I necessarily love.  Not properly.  That is, if you can truly 'love' a building.

I love things that have happened here, of course.  I met a very attractive carpenter in the kitchen (he'd put it in but the worktop was wobbly so I had to get him back to level it up and he never actually left - to the point he became my current husband) .  I love that the Girl had her first 'real' boyfriend here; her first teenage Birthday party. I was proposed to under the cherry tree in the back garden, and we've had some brilliant parties in the massive living/dining room, not to mention Christmasses around the lovely fireplace.  Together we've done it up, replaced the old and made some new, and now  it's as right as it possibly could be (apart from a loft conversion or a knock-through somewhere) and, as Simon Cowell or Tom Jones would attest, we've "made it our own".  But now we'd like to move on please.

Of course staying here would be the easiest thing in the world.  Not moving is by far less stressful than it's polar opposite.  But at the start of this year, looking ahead all I could see was working to make money to pay off  debts and  bills.  Which didn't sound a whole lot of fun.  Couple that with not wanting The Girl to leave Uni with shedloads of debts when she goes in 2013, and we have a Situation - but a situation that can be worked with.
Simples.
We downsize.  We don't need 3 bedrooms.  We certainly don't need three flippin' radiators in one room that's for sure!  And the little house we're moving to is even 2 steps down on the Council Tax - TWO! the rooms are smaller (hence lower heating bills) and we're having to sell half our furniture on e-bay (a fun exercise if ever there was one) so it fits into our new bijou residence.
We also free up some money to buy The Girl a car and help her with her first year at Uni. I SO wish I could thank my Dad for this.  I couldn't have done it without him.
Anyway...

This isn't the only removal going on right now.  I also have to have removed (under general anaesthetic, of course, always like to be as dramatic as poss, me) three of my last chewy teeth.  And no sniggering at the back please, but I've even chatted amicably with my Dentist about maybe looking into the possibility of having some replica dentures fitted - okay then FALSE TEETH if you really want to call them that.

And y'know what?  I don't care.  I really, really don't.  I don't care (and by CARE I mean fazed, bothered, stressed, worked-up, worried) I really couldn't be less worked up about anything if I'd been stuck in a blender on the highest setting.
Stuff happens.  I've seen it happen.  I've had it happen and yet I'm still here and I still laugh* every day.  EVERY DAY!  And that's got to be good, surely!?

*Watch me laugh when our solicitor tells us we exchange and complete on exactly the same day as I get my date from the Hospital!

Oh and I've also seen a rather perfect job advertised in the paper......