After my first year (read: two semesters) of living in the real world, I still hadn’t sold the house I’d lived in while in grad school. So, to save money on rent, I moved back in with my parents for June and July. My biggest fear going into this arrangement, other than a loss of a great deal of privacy and independence, was the prospect of being unconscionably bored.
So far, it seems I needn’t have worried. Within two days, my father came down with what he estimates to be his fifteenth or sixteenth kidney stone. Less than a week later, a young woman driving an SUV rammed into my family’s office building. Shortly after, I came down with my first kidney stone. (Oddly, and forebodingly, my dad’s first was when he was twenty-nine.)
I’ve also been helping out with the family business, making bi-weekly trips to the county courthouse, driving by potential investment properties, and hours and hours of computer research. And let’s not forget what I actually get paid for: I’ve written most of the labs for my fall semester classes.
During all this time, I’ve had the exquisite headache of aggressively trying to sell my house in one of the worst markets real estate has ever seen. Finally, today, a contract was put in on my house. It’s not very favorable to me, requiring even more financial difficulty, and it’s not very favorable to the buyer either, as I wouldn’t accept the terms of the contract if the situation were reversed, so I still feel it’s tenuous. But it’s progress.
And at least I’m not bored.
*My grandfather called me—actually, everyone he ever knew—”George”. This is probably because his name was Herman, which he shared with his favorite baseball player: George Herman “Babe” Ruth.