To think that had Mom gotten a fifteen year mortgage, it would have been paid off in a year, and my living expenses (sans utilities) would have fallen to $200/month!
But as I look around, except for Kelly (who still lives in the house he grew up in, but is moving to his new home once it's finished Real Soon Now, oddly enough), I don't have a single friend that has lived in any one place for 14 years, much less eight years (since I inherited the place from Mom) in any one place.
Then I do the math, and I realized that I have moved, on average, once every three years. Now, by age five I was averaging once per year, and by age ten, it was almost averaging once every two years. My family moved a lot when I was younger.
It wasn't until I started visiting my paternal grandparents every summer did I get a feeling for a permanent home—some place that would always be there, no matter where we (my immediate family) lived. It was home away from home (and that probably did more to turn me off traveling than anything since September 11th since I associate visiting friends and family than I do places, but that's another story). It was stability in an ever changing world (and believe me, moving to South Florida showed me just how changing the world could be). It's a rock from which the universe revolves around. And now, Condo Conner has become that rock (since my paternal grandparents house is no longer in the family) and now I have to find a new rock from which my universe will revolve around. A new point of stability.
Yes. I'm moving. As I have said, I have my health. I have my family. I have my friends. All else is icing.