Thursday, May 1, 2008

Two bad days but the sun will come out tomorrow

Well, bloggers, I'm about ready top pack it in for the night. Made it to dog agility class tonight which really helped restore my good mood and sense of well being after a stressful Wed and Thurs...Ginny did great and so did Danny. They make a great working pair and I love watching. Dogs and dog people are my kind of folks.

Yesterday was a bad day. I've already written a bit about the closing and how hectic and frustrating it was. Not entirely unexpected. What I didn't expect and didn't write about was my realtor's comments prior to the closing. She reported that the father of the buyers was pretty upset and unhappy about the condition of my Mother's house during the walk through. My guess is (and its just a guess) that he is involved in the financing. He certainly appeared to be the captain steering the ship. I was shocked, insulted, and a maybe even a little angry with what was admittedly a hearsay report since I'd worked so hard on the place. The house didn't look junky to me when I left it for the last time. Her report ruined any joy I might have felt at closing. I wanted to say, "You don't like my mothers house. Fine. Walk." But, of course I didn't. Couldn't. The man was perfectly nice at closing. The young couple was delightful. But, the realtor's comment stuck in my craw (whatever that is, sounds good anyway).

I did leave some tools, cleaning materials, and a few incidental things behind, thinking that they might find them useful. Maybe that's what he was ticked off about. Don't know. Maybe the realtor misunderstood. Maybe he wasn't really ticked off at all. Stuff happens. Don't know. I calmed myself down. Then after the closing when everybody else had gone, she asked me when I was going to go over and clean up the junk! A yoga breath helped there. Of course, I refused, legal liability notwithstanding if I entered what was now somebody else's property, the owners didn't ask me for anything.

I love my realtor. She's great. Don't misunderstand me. She's competent and caring: great combination. Well intentioned. She's obviously more of a people pleaser than me. Probably nicer too. Maybe, probably, "neater". I know she didn't mean to upset me. Stuff happens.

Anyway, I went home, went to dinner, walked dogs, went to bed. Woke up two hours later with a stress induced killer migrane and an irrational feeling of sorrow that I had sold my parent's house. Feeling like I had somehow betrayed them and erased them. Dumb, but I couldn't shake the sorrow, or the regret, or the migrane which lasted all day until I finally gave in and allowed myself a good cry around seven pm. Tension broke and I was fine. Sometimes, boys and girls, its okay to cry.

Earlier in the day, I got myself up from my bed of pain and went to my bank (who holds the mortgage) to deposit the check from the title agency, intending to pay off my mortgage. Its late, maybe I'll go more into that story tomorrow. Or not. Suffice to say, that one hour and forty five minutes after i arrived there I left the bank having accomplished virtually nothing. Yes, I deposited the money. That's all. I could possibly have done that in five minutes at the drive through and taken another dose of Excedrin. I dunno if the young loan officer was honesty as confused as he seemed or playing a corporate part in the art of confusopoly. I gave up for the day, sent in my May mortgage payment and went home to bed and tears.

I will deal with them by phone in the morning when I don't have a headache as a handicap. I may be down but I am not done. I now understand though how so many intelligent people got rooked by the banks into the subprime mess. Doesn't matter how smart you are. I have a BA and a Masters plus 30 graduate hours. My IQ is up there. It doesn't matter. They just keep going round in circles at you until you get tired. They don't want me to pay off my mortgage. They want to give me more loans. Tough. Today was a minor setback in the game of Nancy against chaos though. Stay tuned. The sun will come out tomorrow, like Annie sang. In any case, its Friday. Week's over. No house to clear out. No bleeding fingers. No migrane. It can only look up from here.

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