I was assured, in late September, that I would be closing on my house by my birthday. October 15th at the latest.
I am still not finished with this long and arduous process.
It’s been a month of disappointing Fridays, each one waiting and hoping only to find out the lender needs another set of papers, the broker never sent in information, the appraisal has to be redone. Most recently, the broker refused to contact the title company, the insurance paperwork was never received and the title company made mistakes and the sale could not be recorded.
I want to pull my hair out and scream like a two year old in the toy aisle at Wal-Mart.
Maybe this is the universe’s way of breaking me as I have prided myself in the past as being a strong person who takes on a challenge and overcomes the odds. No matter how many prayers, good juju, positive thoughts or threats, this is the deal that will not close. More than once I’ve been reduced to tears out of the sheer frustration of it all. Sick and tired of incompetence and being jerked around like a puppet on a string.
On September 4th my bid for the house was accepted. Great, right? I was excited, packing, planning everything I wanted to do in the house and how things would go. Now I’m so burnt out all I want to do is sleep. I have lost my enthusiasm about the property, my planning is kaput and I have no energy left to move.
These are dangerous times.
For the longest time I’ve taken a long look at my life and the months ahead, thinking and preparing for what’s to come. Now I live day to day, sometimes hour by hour just to get through. Work, which had been enjoyable if not fun, is now dredgery as I imagine how much I have to accomplish if there is a chance this deal will close before December. Instead of spending time with my family it’s phone calls and threats to the broker.
Everyone keeps saying “it’s going to be alright,” “it will get better.” And to that I say I don’t trust that anymore. There is no hope, there is no faith. There is only disapointment and frustration.