a glass of champagne and a phantom limb

It's been an intense week. I've been going to bed with certainty and waking up to uncertainty. But I sit here now with a glass of champagne in one hand and several sets of keys in the other (you know, figuratively). As of about 4pm today, I own the house.

Yesterday, I was dubious this would happen. I met with my real estate agent to talk about contingency plans, plans we were both pretty sure we'd be forced to choose among. We talked about proceeding, accepting the sketchy property lines as-is, and deferring the question of property rights until the neighbor decided to sell. We talked about buying the four feet, but later that morning my real estate agent went to see the city and discovered that to partition the lots that way would make both illegal. It seemed that the best course of action was to have the sellers ask their neighbor for a permanent easement, allowing the fence and roof of my house to sit on his land.

Late in the day, though - after countless phone calls between my agent, my mortgage broker, and I - we got the new survey. It had a big bold line drawn right around the fence. The surveyor had gone back to the monument, the neighborhood's point of origination, and determined that the center itself was incorrectly located. By about four feet.

I went this morning to get a cashier's check and, at noon, handed it over after signing a huge pile of paperwork (which I now own both hard and digital copies of). In addition to my many sheets of paper and a good quality pen, I got a laminated copy of the triumphant survey that pretty much saved my ass. I got several other copies, as well. I think maybe I should tea-dye one of them and frame it.

Now my boyfriend and I are taking our dogs over to check out their new home. I'm wishing I had some graphing paper and could start mapping out walls and cavities where things like new bathroom fixtures will need to go. For now, though, I'm satisfied that I'll be able to walk across the threshold of a home that - philosophically - I've been pursuing since February knowing that I can write my name on a wall, or paint it silver, or knock it down if I want to.

Truthfully, I may not even need a map. I remember crazy details about the floorplan and can recall them instantly. I'm sure I'm not the first to say it, but it feels like I've acquired a phantom limb. A 2,000 square foot, 109-year-old limb that is going to ache until I attach myself to it. I don't know if I'll be able to wait to get the foundation frozen.

I have a hell of a lot of Angie's List recommendations to write. Tomorrow, the planning begins.