Risa is my realtor and cigar buddy. It was her inspector that missed 100 grand in repairs. That I'm still speaking to her is a testament to how hard I'm working on making friends.

I just typed four paragraphs about all the things wrong with this house that have led me to having zero confidence in anything but its capacity for draining my bank account, but then I decided no one could possibly be interested. You're welcome. Suffice it to say that Risa stands alone in thinking not only that this house isn't a dumpster fire, but that it's somehow the house of a lifetime. So strong is her desire for this not to be, well, what it is, she easily and immediately dismisses the concerns of multiple contractors who declined to do repairs because they felt success was unattainable .

Yep. I’m tapping out. I broached the subject with Risa yesterday.

Here’s the math. 18 months ago, this house sold for x. Five months ago, it sold for x again. I have put about 13% more into unsexy stuff like realty fees, maintenance and repairs, so naturally, my dearest dream is to recoup as close to (x+13%) as possible. But I’m wary. The house will be listing for the third time in three years. To any buyer, that’s a giant flapping red flag with red glitter and a red spotlight on it. Realistically, I just don’t want to take too big a loss.

“I’m thinking it will go for 180% of x,” Risa said matter-of-factly.

“The fuck are you smoking, there? It’ll be for sale for the third time in two years. No one’s paying that.”

“You’re thinking like you. Look, John, I know you’re in it so you can’t see how great everything is, but that house is going to go for that.”

“It didn’t before, or the time before that. What’s changed?”

And then she rattled off a bunch of stuff like the school district that most definitely hasn’t changed. And this is how I realized that my friend's grip on sanity, if it ever amounted to much, is long vanquished.