In the market

Last week, I made my first real inquiry into buying a house. I'm starting to wonder what I've gotten myself into.
I know just a few weeks ago I claimed I never wanted to be the kind of guy to talk about real estate, and I still feel that way. But when you’re thinking seriously about buying a house it’s hard to avoid. This might be simultaneously the most exciting and the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
I probably wouldn't be in the house market at all if not for some problems with my current landlord. It's minor things, like a hole in my kitchen ceiling and light fixtures that don't work and no signs any of that is likely to change anytime soon. Somehow, it all put me off the idea of relying on someone else to make repairs to the place I live. It seems like a much better idea now to own a place of my own, where I can be the one not making repairs.
It seemed like a good enough plan, but I never really factored in the whole home-buying process. Apparently it's a little more complicated than buying a carton of milk at the grocery store.
Take last week's showing. I'd been looking at this particular house -- a nice little duplex -- for several weeks. It helps that the place is directly across the street from my current apartment.
From the outside, the building looks nice. Online, it looks nice. It's a little bit small, maybe, but I don't need a lot of space. It would be perfect if not for the fact the main bedroom is tucked up so tight under the roof I'd practically have to crawl on my hands and knees to get to bed each night. Also, the owner is bumping the price up $10,000 so she can replace a couple of furnaces insulated with asbestos. It's the little things, you know?
So, that place was out, and my entire buying plan changed. I think there was a part of me that actually believed buying a house would be as easy as walking across the street and making an offer. Then again, there's also a very small part of me that still thinks the Vikings will win the Super Bowl someday.
So, now I'm looking again. I spent part of my weekend driving around to check out at places a Realtor had suggested to me. Some looked OK, at least from the outside. Others had minor problems, such as being painted a garish green not actually found in nature or having a front porch that appeared to have been designed by someone who had never actually seen the house the porch would eventually be attached to and who might possibly have been drunk at the time.
Of course, finding a home is only part of the process. I'm pretty sure I'll also have to pay for it. And that's where things really get scary.
It is not in my nature to accept debt readily. I can only think of one occasion when I carried a balance on a credit card, and the idea of borrowing enough to buy my first car nearly sent me into a state of shock. My second car loan was a little easier — mild heart palpitations, maybe — but not by a lot.
Now there’s this. Sometime in the next few weeks I might very well ask someone to loan me nearly as much money as Bill Gates probably has in his pocket right now. Enough money that I can put this whole apartment-living thing behind me and pretend to be an actual adult. And somehow I can’t shake this feeling that as soon as the forms are processed my loan officer is going to rip off his mask and reveal he is some sort of minor demon and I have just signed away my soul. Or, if not my soul, then at least my spleen or my liver. That would be especially weird considering I’m probably going to get my loan through my cousin, and there are hardly any demons on that side of the family.
In any case, I may very well keel over as soon as I sign my name on the dotted line.
On the positive side, that would mean I wouldn’t have to make any of the payments.