Now I KNOW I'm having a midlife crisis.

It's been a while since my last blog. In that time, Reid and I have decided to try to buy our house. We've been renting this house for two years, and the landlords decided they were over the whole "landlord" thing. So, really, it forced us to make a very adult decision.

Reid and I aren't used to making very adult decisions. We try to avoid those if at all possible.

We took the leap, and now we're in the middle of mortgage brokers and escrow and earnest money and good faith estimates and homeowners insurance and appraisals. It's as if we were picked up out of our spontaneous, no commitments existence by a whirling tornado that deposited us not in Munchkinland, but somewhere far more disconcerting. ADULT LAND.

What with Emmy quickly reaching kindergarten age, and all this talk of house buying, it's impossible for us to pretend that we aren't adults.

Stability is comforting, I suppose.

It's interesting that all of this comes during my 35th year. I've always viewed 35 as a sort of benchmark age for when you Really Grow Up. I mean, you're no longer in your "early 30's" and you're barreling towards your 40's with alarming speed. Trouble is, my brain still feels 19. I don't feel like I should be capable of raising a child, maintaining a house, and making important advertising decisions that could affect the way national corporations make money.

It'll all work itself out in the end, to be sure. Most things usually do. Until then, I'll be the one you see chugging grande lattes (sugar-free, nonfat, thank you very much, since I'm an adult now and have to worry about my health) while nervously clutching a dog-eared copy of Homebuying for Dummies.

- posted by Perpetually Romesick @ 4:00 PM