So it was an interesting long weekend if nothing else... filled with house guests, laughters, and the smell of something burning.

It was somewhere between dancing in the light of flickering flame (but not too close to the token crazy dancer) and RAID bombing my apartment that it happened. There were four girls running apartment to apartment looking for somewhere to call HOME. Home is where the heart is and my heart isn't in my current rental property. The memories of the day include: rain, crap workman ship, a paint box puking on the walls, Vic the non-Italian stallion, and a place I could call home.

I just signed my first offer on an apartment. Of course I don't have all the money, but the money I attached to the page was all my own. I'm not sure if 2007 is meant to be the year of travel and a house; but then again anything could happen.

Now as I wait for the phone to ring  I am thinking of the number 51. If I get this mortgage, I will be 51 by the time I make my last payment. 51 that sounds scary, but I'm not so sure if it is the number or that it implies an age I can't even comprehend. Where will I be?

Let me break it down simplier:

51 colours in the rainbow?

51 pairs of shoes in my closet?

Aright more realistically, 51 days ago I was in Egypt

51 months ago: I had decidedto try something atypical

51 days in the future: I should be somewhere cold celebrating with extended family

51 months in the future: I should know a little more about my path

But how can I think of anything beyond these next 51 minutes which are the deal breaker.