Desert dreams

After much trepidation, I finally told the BF about my plans to set up a desert homestead. I was very nervous and nearly gave him a heart attack when I said I had something important to talk about. It’s not that I was afraid he would stop me - it’s my money and I can bloody well do what I want. But if he’s going to continue to be in my life (and he is), this is going to be a big part of my life, and him not being on board would be a problem. I can buy the place myself, but fixing it up, maintaining it, and visiting safely do actually require the assistance of another adult. Also, he is a very skeptical person and has the annoying habit of second guessing every single decision I make (I don’t take it personally - he does this with everything. But it drives me nuts). Anyway, long story short, he said that he, too, has always had the dream of a desert getaway, and as long as it’s cheap enough to just plunk down cash, why not? So - phew! And - hooray!

Tomorrow we take off for the desert to look at properties. This will be the deciding factor on whether to pull the trigger or not. I mean, I think I know the area, but...it may just feel too dangerous once we actually start looking at these places. There’s no getting around the fact that the high desert is a Petri dish of criminals, meth labs and tweakers...with a sprinkle of artists and musicians, libertarians, anarchists, and bougie LA hipsters looking to create an Instagram backdrop (I’m afraid we kinda fall into the latter category). I read an article about how you should expect your place to be broken into every weekend and then see your neighbors using your stolen stuff. This scares the shit out of me. It could be a little too lawless even for me (although considering the fact that I survived Alphabet City in the 80s, I find this hard to believe). Step one: don’t keep anything thieves would want in your place, two, secure the hell out of it so it’s unappealing to thieves, three, don’t annoy your neighbors. 

I’ve been in touch with a couple of realtors, and the situation is pretty dire - you’re not going to find an affordable place that has water or electric; I don’t care so much about electric, but water is a concern. In fact there are few places I can afford that even have any kind of structure on them at all. Still I’ve researched enough this week to come up with a plan: most residents use composting toilets, and haul water in large jugs from local water stations or fill up at the National park. I figure we can just fill 5 gallon jugs at home before heading out. I think the toilet situation will be a hard sell on the BF...but he’s just going to have to deal. I’ve got no issue handling our waste, god knows I changed enough diapers and cleaned enough poopy underwear to permanently desensitize me. 

So tomorrow will be very telling. I’ll either start putting in bids, decide to wait for better properties, or decide this just isn’t for us because the area is too derelict to stay in safely. 

It was rough getting the kids through their work this week. I have to tell them “do your work!” 50 times as they screw around, turn the house into a parkour course, wrestle, sneak off with iPads, or space out. I try not to lose my mind over it - they’re kids; normally their teachers would be absorbing all this chaos but unfortunately that’s my job for the time being. I escape to our sunny porch as often as possible. 

Today is the BF’s 53rd birthday. I’m going to cobble together some cupcakes and make a little Avengers party for him since he’s such a fan. Last year I took him to a seafood buffet and we slathered ourselves with hand sanitizer and he remarked all of the concerts we’d bought tickets to would probably be canceled and that we’d probably never set foot in a buffet restaurant again. I scoffed. Boy was I wrong.