Man

There are definitely some days when the anxiety attacks hit full force.

I had a nightmare last night that my second house had fallen into a major state of disrepair and was quite dissheveled due to the laziness of my tenants. I was over there for some reason, and I walked up the stairs, only to find that one of the guys who recently moved out was back and playing an arcade-sized Pac-Man installed on the stairwell. This, I was promised, would raise my already high electric bills through the roof. Great. He then noted that the ripped up carpet upstairs wasn't his fault, but rather was due to a wrestling match the guy in the loft (incidently, the cleanest of the tenants in real life) and the girl in the second bedroom (in reality, there is no girl in the second bedroom, that I know of) had recently been involved in. I went upstairs, shaking my head, where I was greeted with the guy in the loft telling me - "She pinned me, it was her fault, I'm not paying." The girl responded, "I don't even live here!" Needless to say, I would be footing the bill(s).

I woke up, chest heaving, with the sudden urge to start yelling, "ANXIETY ATTACK ANXIETY ATTACK!!" But, that would have been pretty ridiculous.

Yesterday, the Washington Post had an article that, except for the live-in vs. investing difference, describes my real estate experiences almost perfectly. Here is the link to it, it's a good piece, one that I think speaks to the pessimism I'm trying to force out of my mind.

Bernanke is getting praised by the market for the Fed's sudden decision to lower the discount rate, but blasted by economics academics - the group Bernanke came out of - for giving in to the market. I'm not sure which one is right, but they need to lower the Federal Funds rate, which would hopefully push mortgage rates down and send buyers swarming towards my houses.

Fucking real estate, fucking bad karma.

I feel like a beer in a bear festival.