I bought my first house last week. We moved in on Wednesday, so I've been there less than a week. And I love this place. It was built in 1900, so it has a lot of character, and since the existing paint is so ugly, I don't feel bad about redoing it all. The women I bought it from was super nice and supportive, and I'm moving with a really great roommate who's done a lot of home repair stuff before, so he's helping me bring the house back up to where I'd like it to be.
All in all, I'm feeling pretty good about my decision.
And then! Last night, after building furniture and moving boxes all damn day, I sit down on my bed, exhausted, at 1 AM, ready to eat my delicious stouffers mac and cheese and JP licks ice cream sandwich, when a bug lands in my mac and cheese. So I flick it off, dispose of the tainted noodle, and move on, because we've had the doors open all day, so I wasn't surprised that a few bugs made their way into the house. Then another bug lands in my mac and cheese. Now I'm starting to get nervous. Then a couple more plop in, getting stuck in the cheese in a way that's making me queasy to think about, even now.
I'm really nervous now, so I look around my room. And I realize that the plopping noise that I, up to this point, had thought was raindrops hitting my window, is in fact the sound of hundreds and hundreds of winged ants falling to the ground and they try and crawl up my walls from the corner of my room. At least a thousand winged ants, maybe multiple thousands, just swarming out of the corner of my room, up the walls, towards my bed, towards my clothes, landing in my food. I ended up spending the night in a hotel, because even though we couldn't find any evidence of any other bugs in the rest of the house, I couldn't sleep on the couch because I was sure they were crawling all over me.
Why the hell did I buy a house again?