Eric G. Wiley

Well well well. Looks like a couple dudes think my house is pretty sweet and want to buy it. I've never wanted to leap forward in time more than I do now. Blip, bloop, flick, click - toggle all switches and push all the right buttons to take me to the end of the month so we can close on this deal.

The house has been on the market, unoccupied, since June 2006. Been keeping the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter so it'd be cozy for every mud-tracking potential home buying yahoo that wanted to traipse through it. During its vacancy, crooks have stolen every exterior item on my property that wasn't nailed down. Garden hoses, potted geraniums, firewood, light bulbs and the realtor's 'For Sale' sign (six times).

Last week, the day before the pre-sale home inspection, the furnace died. The outdoor temperature, which soon also became the indoor temperature, was 0 degrees F. After a week of frenzied scheduling, coordinating, logisticalizing, yelling and whipping out the credit card there is now a new furnace purring away in the basement. We haven't turned the water back on yet - want to make sure all the ice is melted out of all the little nooks and crannies of the pipes. Lets hope she don't blow.

I loved that little house. I lovingly tended its gardens, painted its walls, cleaned its gutters and polished its floors. And, like an spiteful cell mate, it shanked me just before I got out on parole. The house and I still have 2.5 weeks in the cell together.

God of Realty, Please Watch Over Me.