Preoccupied

I have house on the brain. Specifically, one house. I don't want to talk about it too much except to acknowledge that it's worming its way around my cerebral stalks such that focus is ... difficult.

Of course I am falling for a difficult property. One that is lender owned. Apparently when you work with banks all of the timelines expand and you find yourself playing an advanced version of "hurry up and wait: home edition."

I know it is poor practice to make a home decision based on emotion. So I tell myself it is only a little crush, a harmless fling, an exercise in flirtation. We'll soon discover a life together is impossible and possibly part ways, never to see each other again.

But we'll always have that sunny afternoon. Those stolen moments. Shhh. Don't speak. It will only cheapen it.