Round and round and round it goes. Where is my house? Nobody knows. For the past two weeks, we have been battling a horrid cyclical torture of will-they-won’t-they get the house, and we’re running out of time. I still feel oddly hopeful, but I also now understand the feeling of helplessness and the dangers of hope better than ever.
Our loan has changed lenders, and we’re now delayed and in limbo. The seller is on his last fingernail of patience, and you can imagine what that means for me. We are now half a week past our original close of escrow date and two days ahead of our extended deadline.
Every morning, I wake up by convincing myself that there’s nothing to get anxious about, and every evening my day ends by frantically checking my email for updates and falling back into the same conversation with my husband. Between this and the two dentist appointments I’ve had in two weeks (and one next week) for my root canal, you can imagine how utterly thrilling I am to talk to the past two weeks.
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll get the good news.”
“I hope so. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
“What if it doesn’t? I don’t have the strength to start over.”
“Let’s go eat. There’s nothing else we can do tonight.”
I successfully stopped myself from longingly browsing my photo album of the house for the past four days (except that time I let my friend look at lunch), but I broke down and looked again today. Glancing briefly through the pictures, I imagined myself playing fetch with my dogs in the back yard and drinking tea from a jar with my best friends on the patio. I imagined I was working in my home office with my dogs in their brand new dog beds, and I imagined my husband and I hanging our travel art on our new walls and shopping endlessly at Crate and Barrel.
Then I wrote this blog.
Now my lunch break is over, and real life returns. Regardless of what happens, we will of course make the best of it. But I truly cannot imagine this month ending in any other way than with a key in my hand. Let’s just hope I don’t have to.