St. Pat's Day

Saw R. Ruhter today and asked about selling the homesite. He ballparked it at $40-50, once it gets cleaned up. *SIGH* I don't see how I can *not* sell at that price. Seriously. But I have to let Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Butch know about what I'm planning, so they can have the chance to buy it. If I don't, I'll never hear the end of it. "You sold without telling us! You could have at least asked if we wanted to buy!" So yeah, I'll ask them but I'm, like, about 99% positive that they can't--or won't--buy. It's hard to say. But the hell of it is, the only people who *might* want to rent it are the same low-life trash who fucked it up so bad in the first place -- and they'd probably start up a meth lab to boot. Fuck! Whatever happened to people who wanted a nice cheap place in the country? They don't exist anymore, I guess. Or if they do, they sure aren't anywhere around here. I wish that I had enough money to hire someone to live there and take care of the place but hell -- been there, done that and got fucked in the ass anyway. Me, I always wanted to live there but I would never quite feel safe there now. Besides, I am now at the age where people move to town rather than stay on the homestead. Once again, thank you Mom and Dad for helping finish off my oldest, fondest dream. >:( Now if I can just manage to somehow relocate... where to, I have no idea. Never really had the chance to be anywhere *but* here, so I have no clue how I will reacclimate at my age. The time to get moving is in your 20's, when you're still flexible enough (my folks would have said 'stupid') to adjust to different places, different lifestyles. Feh. I'm not doing myself any good in this mood, so I'd better go to bed.