I recently read a thoughtful article by an 18-year Detroit resident about the folly of youth moving to a city down on its luck. Much hay has been made of the influx of young people to Detroit lately, and as a 28-year old home buyer (now 31), I fit fairly neatly into that pile. The author shares portions of an idyllic letter he wrote as a 25-year old to then-Mayor Dennis Archer and squirms as he tries to reconcile his present-day perspectives with the ones he brought with him in 1996.

I’m here because, like the author, I wanted to live in a place that wasn’t done being built. I am, at my core, a builder. A place like Detroit is irresistible because it just screams out the opportunities for a builder. And indeed, I quickly found my little corner on which to build. I have a grand vision for my little corner, and on this corner my ideas and efforts are boundless.

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Farewell, old friend.

Our final trip to the Warren house was this past weekend, knowing full well it would be our final opportunity to get inside. It turns out my decision to force the issue of what day to move was especially keen. Three days after we returned the truck, an eviction notice appeared on the door of the Warren house. The court date was set for one week later – today.

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We moved into Detroit on Saturday, the 29th of September, 2012. I forced the issue by scheduling the moving van because the dual-house utility bill situation was untenable. We made two trips with the moving van and got nearly everything. As of today, there’s still a car load or two of things in the Warren garage plus a few electrical fixtures we need to retrieve. It was an exhausting, 12-hour day that was only possible because of the help of our awesome friends.

Our first mission was the kitchen. That’s the one room in the house that, as of last night, was basically finished. Everything is where it goes, and oh man, what a great room. There is tremendous amounts of storage space, plenty of counter room, and the coffee / microwave table from the Warren house has been repurposed as an island. It came with casters and side pot-hanging racks that I’d just stored in the basement the last four years. Well, they’re attached now, and what a transformation. It’s probably the most fantastic repurposing of a piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.

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I’ve been a massive ball of stress lately. We don’t know when eviction might come at the Warren house, and we don’t know how much notice we’ll get. The uncertainty creates massive anxiety for all of us, because there are a lot of steps to be taken before we can safely move in to the Sullivan House.

I didn’t really see how tightly I was wound though until I left town for the fourth annual Icrontic Rennfaire event in Maryland. Despite having no time to relax, the Rennfaire is, to me, non-optional. It’s the only time I get to visit my awesome friends Anne & Eli in Alexandria, VA each year, and I’ve never missed one. So, off I went. And when I came back, everything was different.

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There’s an undercurrent of panic in my actions.

We have five weeks until eviction from our home in Warren will be looming over our heads. We have no firm date, only the knowledge that August is when our six months of foreclosure grace is ending.

The kitchen and bathroom are so close to completion, but so far away. We have dozens of gallons of paint in our immediate future. There are some major undertakings left, including siding and gutter repairs. The City of Detroit inspectors could conceivably stop me from occupying the house until every single thing is complete. I don’t see how it’s possible to reconcile that with our deadline.

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I never told my uncle I’d bought the house.

I joked with my mom that he’d inevitably find out thanks to Facebook, but I wasn’t eager for the next conversation. On Tuesday, it came up between my mom and aunt as they chatted on the phone. And so it was that a day later my phone buzzed with a voicemail from my uncle. Oh boy. Here we go.

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After closing on the house, I was pretty numb to the world. People would ask what my plans were for the house, and I’d shrug. My plans blew up. I have enough money to buy some supplies at the hardware store and that’s about it. I didn’t even bother calling the utility company for a day. Whatever.

We had a fun little adventure our first day, meeting the neighbors. Later that night I called my parents to tell them about the crazy I’d done. “You’re coming down from an incredible amount of stress and trying to let it go. It’s pretty normal,” was my mom’s reaction to my ambivalence. My parents offered to send me some money. I asked them to only get some furniture if they wanted to help out. I didn’t want them going into debt for my new money pit. At least I could take furniture with me if things fell apart.

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Closing day. My stomach knotted, I drove downtown to pick up the inspection documents. I was terrified to see the results. The money still hadn’t transfered to my checking account. It was now 11:45am with the closing scheduled for 2pm.

I checked on the money wire. After some back and forth with my family, it became apparent we had made a grave error. I had many thousands of dollars less available than we thought. My careful plans and budgeting evaporated, buffers transformed into impossible shortfalls. The knot got tighter. My resolve began to fade.

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The closing documents are with my attorney. The city inspection is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and the closing is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. The fund are being wired to my account in the morning. Thousands of dollars seem to have evaporated somewhere in all the transfers. My first round of desired fixes are off to the contractor for a quote. Agent still hasn’t sent me the final quote to start home insurance. Asbestos removal quote is higher than I’d hoped, but less than I’d feared.

I put on my headphones and try to concentrate on work. I decided to skip a visit to the house today. Every time I think of it, I feel tightness in my chest.

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I went down to the house with Nicole today to meet the electrician. “I used to come down here all the time,” the electrician told me in greeting. “I drove around the neighborhood for a while to check it out, and I just fell in love with this building. I saw it was for sale and almost called my brother-in-law to come down and check it out before I realized it was the one I was going to!”

Once inside it was a constant stream of “Oh wow, just WOW” and “What a treasure!” as we passed from room to room. We talked as much about the house’s potential as we did the electrical.

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It’s getting harder and harder to find a nice plot in center city. Several nights of online searching turned up precious few homes in the central neighborhoods of Detroit. Today, Nicole and I spent a few hours touring the city and checking out potential homes. I’m really partial to Woodbridge, but there’s very little for sale there.

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