You may recall that I put an offer on a house some time around the beginning of June and you may be asking if I love my new place, did i find a roommate, congratulations, or any other questions and/or platitudes you would send my way.
You know what I would answer? I don’t have my fucking house yet.
Can I tell you how frustrated I am? Can I tell you that even though I’ve tried to keep a positive attitude and enjoy the fact I’m saving money every day this is postponed, I still can’t stop the screaming inside my head?
I realized today (actually it’s been a gradual acceptance) that I am more depressed over this whole house thing that I thought I was. I want so badly to be in my house, but all this waiting and not knowing is killing me. We were supposed to close on August 19th, which already felt like forever because it was over two months after the day we made the offer. But the builders are slow, irresponsible, finger pointing, blame shifting, incompetent asses who are dangling my unfinished house in my face like a two year old and then running off squealing with delight while I cry.
I have been eating non-stop, gained 14 pounds in 7 weeks, my body hurts, I have nightmares every night, and I’m fighting more with everyone because I’m so fucking sick of waiting. My room is a mess because I thought I’d be moving soon so I figured I’d just pack it up instead of clean it up (it’s been months). My health has deteriorated because I planned on all sorts of “taking care of me” stuff when I moved in to my own place. I bought a couch, where you pick out the fabric and they have to send away for it and it takes forever, but I timed the delivery perfectly with the second or maybe it was third predicted closing date and the couch is ready and I’m being charged every day I make them hold onto it while I wait for my motherfucking house.
I leave for Spokane for nine weeks on Sunday. I close on the house the following Friday (don’t even get me started on how messy this has gotten with me being out of town at this time). I arranged to come home the day after I close so I can move all my stuff out of my sister’s place into mine and then fly back to Spokane, leaving my house messy and unoccupied. It breaks my heart, but that’s my plan.
Then today I get a call that we may not close on the 23rd. “The paving may not be done. We just don’t know. Definitely by the end of the month, but can’t be sure.” Fuck my ass. This is absurd.
All I want to do is cry, which is getting in the way of the telekinetic killing power I’m trying to strike down upon them. Shoot me now. No more putting on my happy face. I’ve cracked.