Stinky Old House

From my New House Diaries

Nestled near the corner of two streets in one of my favorite Neighborhoods sits a charming old house that I get to call home. My fairy tale house — truly! Or at least it would be… if it weren’t for the smell.

Scratch that.

SMELLS (yes — plural).

The first time I saw this house (standing on the outside looking in) I knew it was my home. It made my heart feel sparkly.

But when I walked inside, something shifted.

I instantly felt heavy — weighed down by layers upon layers of stink that dried my throat and fogged my brain.

Like falling into the Bog of Eternal Stench

That’s okay — we can eliminate bad smells, right?

Maybe.

These days, I honestly can’t tell if I’m going nose blind or if the smells just come and go like ghosts haunting a liminal space.

Sometimes the weather shifts, and suddenly I’m picking up on notes of old cat pee.

And when the moon is full, it pulls old moisture out of every crack and crevice, opening my nostrils to a stench that’s musky and dank.

There’s always an ‘old house’ smell that fills the space like fog on a lake.

And don’t even get me started on the bathroom. Because truly, I don’t even know.

To be honest, our first week in the house felt like drinking poison.

My body suffered for it.

Headaches.

A sore throat.

A sour tastes in my mouth.

And little-to-no desire to eat.

Inside it felt like I’d made the wrong decision. Like I’d ignored my intuition.

But I had to remind myself — I’d chosen hope. Potential. A dream that still needs nurturing.

You know what they say — you can change absolutely everything about your house, except where it’s located. And truthfully, there’s no place I’d rather be.

Unless there’s a cuter, more affordable home somewhere in this neighborhood that doesn’t stink. In that case, I’d rather be there.