A house is a home, not an investment

I live in a home, not a house. It is not an investment. It is where I hide from the world and I don't care what it's worth because if I sold it, I would still need another hideout, which would cost the same. I am in fact desperate to sell my home as I have grown to hate my neighbourhood, but as my husband points out, pretty much every neighbourhood everywhere has the same collection of defects: the beige stucco that is the aluminum siding of the modern era, alcoholism, pedophiles, the primacy of dogs over children, the hounding of homeless people, a stalker, casual anti-Semitism, the trickle of water pressure in the taps that gets slighter each year, the local resentment about rising property taxes from people who won't clear their sidewalks or pick up litter "because it's the city's job," and what seems to be a grudge against good food in restaurants.