Six or seven years ago, when it first occurred to me to write essays for the internet, I was inspired by someone I had never met who was spewing vitriol at me in a mutual friend's Facebook thread. There was absolutely no call for the hateful language. I really hadn't said anything inflammatory, or even particularly opinionated. But this woman questioned my parentage, accused me of all sorts of conflicting political viewpoints, and called me vulgar names. Like internet trolls do. Although I didn't think she was necessarily a troll. I think she was either the sister or the daughter of an old friend I haven't seen in 20 years. I was so thrown by having this poo flung at me, I thought, maybe what I will do to cleanse my soul is to start a blog called "On Civil Discourse," and I could wax poetic about the days when people spoke politely in conversation with strangers, and when it was assumed that you could disagree with someone and still believe they were a good person at heart. I'm afraid those days are lost to us right now. I've been reading Twitter a lot more often lately, and I am absolutely stunned at the filth that follows even the most banal of tweets. I know better than to read comment sections, but I keep doing it anyway. It's destroying my faith in humanity. Can this be changed? Is there hope for humanity?
I'm trying to pretend that everything is normal during a week when it feels like nothing will ever be the same again. I went on another house showing tonight, hoping that my clients will be ready to try again to put in an offer. I have been feeling like the world is ending, but I have to believe that it will indeed go on, and that people will continue to buy houses. I just have to mope a little before I feel confident about it all again. I might spend all of tomorrow drunk. At the very least I'm going to lock myself away from all media. At best, I'll be told to write an offer on the new house we toured after dark.
The house itself was pretty cool. It was a study in how thoroughly pictures can mis-represent a space. It wasn't a disappointment. Quite the opposite, actually. The longer we were there, the more it grew on all of us. I particularly came to like the kitchen, the longer I looked at it. However, it might have been a result of a little bit of intoxication. From the moment we walked in, I noticed that it smelled strongly of natural gas. It reminded me of the garage apartment in Oklahoma where my Granny lived, where it always smelled like the pilot light on the floor furnace was out. I called the listing agent and the co-listing agent, and left voice mails about it. But other than that, it was a great place. Huge back yard, wonderful outdoor kitchen. It looked cool in the dark. Also, it had something I NEEEEEED: a 2/3 scale steel steer that was a charcoal smoker. I want this, but I also think it should be painted gold. Especially now.
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