12 June 2003
In this morning's nightmare (somewhere between 3 and 5 am), friends and family have dragged me onto a suburban street to show me exactly the home of my dreams: spacious, precisely the layout I'd want, and best of all, for sale.
"I can't possibly afford this," I complained.
"Will you at least talk to them?"
They were anxious to deal they'd shaved more than a few dollars off the six-figure price but it would still cost me three times what I'm spending to keep a roof over my head now, and I'm not at all inclined to pour 70 percent of my income into housing.
What was really odd, though, was the whispering among the neighbors on that side of the street, and how it suddenly stopped whenever I approached. And further, no one seemed to know anything about the previous resident, why he was selling, what he was like, even his name.
So no sale, but I'm wondering just what put this scenario into my head, and I'm further wondering if there is any significance to the address: I don't recall the street name, but the five digits 22071, in gold over the dark-brown trim, stick in my mind for some reason.
Posted at 6:54 AM to General Disinterest
Translation: 22071 is the zip code for Herndon, Virginia, an area where you would most likely want to live as it is just close enough to New Jersey to be a stone's throw yet not have to actually LIVE in New Jersey. Then you could go to the chat bashes at a moment's notice instead of having to plan Road Trips a year in advance.
Am I good or am I good?
There is some precedent for this, as it happens. From the 2002 World Tour Log:
Official retirement age will probably keep increasing while I keep working, and it's entirely possible (maybe even likely) that I won't live long enough to be able to turn my back on office space forever. But dammit, if I survive into those putatively golden years, I'm pulling up my stakes and heading for a place where a tree is more than just something you move out of the way before the landscapers arrive, and that means, like as not, a place where the ZIP code starts with 0. Maybe 1. (I'd consider a very low 2, but that's it.) Yes, I know, I hate winter, and winters up here are fierce. But if I don't have to drive to work in it, I don't care.
Certainly northern Virginia would qualify under this specification.
The most recent Vent, a discussion of road rage, describes an incident in Fairfax County, Virginia. Hey, it could have been near Herndon.
Whoa. Herndon IS in Fairfax County.
It is indeed. I may slide through there this summer just to take a peek, assuming I am not, um, distracted.