Cutting costs or wasting time?

Yesterday my Realtor friend invited me to lunch. I was happy for a break, since I’d spent the morning after a sleepless night drafting a job application. God, but applying for a job has become a complicated mess! Useta be you just sent in your resume and had an interview. Maybe you took some sort of skills test. No more! Today you jump through a dozen flaming hoops, explain your innermost self, provide a detailed excuse for every parking ticket you’ve ever had, and write a minidissertation. That’s before they’ll look at your résumé, which had better be machine-readable.

Anyway, my friend came armed with a stack of printouts for houses he wanted me to look at. Argh. I wasn’t planning on spending the entire afternoon driving around the central city, but that’s what we did.

He believes that with all the foreclosures and short sales on the market, we have a chance of finding a place that won’t cost as much to maintain for what I can get for my house. Problem is…what I can get for my house is now very little, indeed. The $325,000 estimate of a few months ago is now down around $270,000 to $280,000…before all the various commissions, fees, and rips are taken off. And while prices in other North Central neighborhoods have dropped, mine has dropped in exact ratio, so that if your house costs less, mine still sells for even less than yours, so I can’t afford yours.

This means that no matter how far property values in my part of town drop, I still can’t afford to move to a smaller, easier (read cheaper)-to-maintain house in a neighborhood with fewer run-down properties and less crime.

The repos we saw were dumps. The one place we visited that was not a foreclosure was in a little 1950s working-class enclave smack in the middle of the midtown high-rise district. The owners, who had lived there a good 30 years, had lovingly patched the sprawling, bizarrely laid-out house together with a series of add-ons, clearly projects they came up with as they had the money. Each room had different flooring, and strange passageways led to hidden bedrooms behind odd doors and long halls. It was, in a word, not to code.

There was a great deal of charm in all the work the couple had done over the years. The charm, alas, will go when the residents go. The house reflected them and was infused by them. Once they leave, it will be naught but a ramshackle pile.

Houses in the little enclave of patio homes I covet, as it develops, have most recently sold in the high 400s, so we won’t be moving there anytime soon.

So it looks to me like the project to find a place in town whose operating costs are relatively low is pretty forlorn. I just don’t think I’m going to find any such palace that I can afford. The only place I can get a single-family home with low maintenance costs and low taxes is…oh yes. Sun City.

I felt like I’d wasted the entire afternoon, when I should have been editing copy and working on applying for the Sonoran Institute job. The effort to cut costs by finding a cheaper place to live not only did not work toward cutting anything that looks like a cost, it wasted time.

If I lose my job—or when I retire—there’s no way I can maintain the house I’m in. This month the regular bills (utilities, etc.) overran the $840 set aside to cover them, and I also overspent the $1,500 “all other costs” budget by $27—even though my only extravagance was about $125 for some inexpensive dishes. Fortunately I have enough in savings to make up the difference. But once my income drops below its present level, I won’t be able to put money in savings. And I probably won’t have enough income to cover the summer bills and also eat.

Guess I need to resign myself to the fact that I’ll be spending my golden years in a ghetto for the elderly.