Moving on... Quilting!

I'm feeling much more positive than I did last week.  I'm ready to let go of my emotional attachments to the house and enjoy my duplex with the large front yard and cool neighbors.
So I finished a quilt!  I started it before Thanksgiving, intended as a Christmas present for my brother-in-law, but I got distracted or debilitated by one thing after another until this week.

It's a crazy-quilt, like usual.  Behind each piece of fabric there's a different yard sale/thrift store/really good sale story.  It's flawed, like usual, except THE CORNERS ARE PERFECT!  Hemming is my least favorite part, and my corners usually turn out awful.  Not this time!  I'm sending it to my brother-in-law anyway, even though it's a month or so late for Christmas.  He was on my mind when i created it, so it must go to him.  Once I finish a quilt I'm anxious to get it out of my sight.  All I can see are the off-center batting, crooked seams, marks that crept onto the fabric during production, and over all ridiculousness of the design.  I can only hope that it will warm someone somewhere, even if it gets donated to a homeless shelter.
Hurrah for making something!

First World Problem

This week I have wanted to cry several times.  The feeling is followed by wanting to kick myself when I remember what it is that makes me sad.  

A house makes me sad. 610 E 12th Street.  Any house makes me sad, really, since it's because of this particular house that I won't have my own house for a long time.  I loved owning my own house, loved it a little too much.  I could paint it, break it, fix it, however I wanted.  It was always there for me, standing sturdy.  This is a convoluted tragic love story.  

Events happened, etc. etc. etc., and now we're facing a short sale on the house.  Jobs are 100 miles away from it (literally), so we can't live there.  Our excellent credit score will be decimated by the short sale, so we won't be able to buy a house, maybe not even rent a different one, for x years.  We're currently renting a small duplex full of brown carpet (oh horror), with in-wall heaters and precious little space for gardening.  

Now I want to kick myself.  

The majority of the Earth's population would view this duplex as a rather lavish dwelling.  Even in this town, there are far worse places to live.  Now please everyone remind me how it was only 7 months ago that I lived in my parents' BASEMENT, with cement floors, little privacy, a host of mice, and a washing machine that sometimes flooded the place.  

What do I have to complain about?

Other than the fact that I.  Must. PLANT THINGS!!!

I miss my house.  I miss the well-draining soil and long growing season there.  I miss the hardwood floor that survived anything we threw at it. I need to find a way to get over this.