When last we left our intrepid heroine, she was valiantly trying to secure a refinance loan in a society that hates the working poor, even when they’re trying to do something to not be quite so poor. She’s had a few setbacks, but seems to be back on course. She assumes, since her agent Dave isn’t speaking to her.
In the absence of any communication, I had too much time to analyze my (over?) reaction. I wasn’t sorry for it. I was a woman on the edge, and couldn’t take much more of being there. I don’t really have much stress in my life, so this very large amount was WAAY too much for me. I also hoped on some level this demonstrated how seriously I take bills, how I’d rather slit my wrists than not pay one, so please approve me for this loan because you won’t be sorry; but I know that very little humanity factors into the decision.
All my life I’ve had dreams where I rush around my parents’ house locking doors and windows against some unknown threat. Tery says this indicates deep-seated insecurity (but she also says my dream last night about the house being full of snakes means I want to be surrounded by penises, so consider that while judging her divination skills). While hanging in limbo waiting for this deal to either happen or fall through, I was dreaming that entire doors were missing, and had been for days and I hadn’t noticed. Maybe there’s something to Tery’s interpretation.
I also hadn’t mentioned, because I wasn’t proud of it, that back before the dropping of the “we have to start again” bomb, I was so sure we were in the home stretch that I bought a laptop off eBay. Don’t judge me. Some people eat their feelings. I buy mine off. It was going to be a gift to myself, one last hurrah before going back into spending freeze, but then the bomb dropped and it became a potential consolation prize.
I waited for Dave another week, but then we faced another weekend when nothing would be done until Monday, and I couldn’t take the uncertainty for that long. I called him. If he was at all affected by my irrational email, he hid it well. I apologized, and he said that I was like his mother, worrying about everything. I thought that was a little unfair. We all worry about things, I think. I only have major breakdowns when facing potential financial ruin and homelessness, so let’s have some perspective here.
Besides, Tery would be the first to tell him I’m not a worrier, just a control freak. And sitting around doing nothing while my fate is being decided elsewhere is the purest form of torture.
Anyway, he assured me that everything was submitted and we were waiting for final approval. But he fully expected that “by this time next week,” we’d be closing. He told me to relax and enjoy my weekend, because nothing could be done to speed up the process. Relax. Enjoy my weekend. I could do this.
No I couldn’t. I needed a plan B. I turned the only direction I could think of, to one of my oldest friends in the world, H. H has offered me help in many a monetary pickle, but I’ve never come closer to feeling I needed it than now. He was more than willing and insisted on sending me almost twice as much as I actually needed. Everyone should have a friend as good as H. This lifted an enormous weight from my chest.
Then a new weight was added when I was notified I had an abnormal finding on my mammogram, and they needed follow-up tests. I wasn’t worried at all about my health, just the money (because even with insurance, sometimes you have to pay for things). I was convinced this was the universe saying, “Say, you’re going to be saving some money soon? Here, have some more big medical bills.”
True to Dave’s word, nothing at all happened all week. Then Thursday was another rush to sign and return more documents to be on schedule to close on Monday. Dave went over the final paperwork with me, and I could tell he was really chuffed to have finally succeeded. I didn’t begrudge him that pride; I knew our situation was damn near impossible, but he pulled it off. He deserved every ounce of chuffiness and more.
Monday was my follow-up tests (normal), then Dave called to reschedule for Tuesday. It seemed there was to be no end to my nightmare.
But there was. Tuesday we were visited by a mobile notary public, Doris, a pleasant retired woman who good-naturedly tolerated our cats (Logan, our vicious stray who’s wary of everyone but us, would not be deterred from curling up in the chair behind her back). She didn’t care for the ferrets, so we locked them in the bedroom; as they always do, they immediately proceeded to act like they didn’t still have 100 square feet of space and clawed frantically at the door through the entire transaction. She chuckled patiently while straining to be heard above the din, as we tried to insist that they really are great pets, most of the time. Thank god the bird is gone or she would have thought we lived in a proper nuthouse.
And, just like that, the deal was done. There was one document we signed acknowledging that we had a week or something to call it off. Doris asked us with a hint of alarm, “You’re not going to call it off, are you?” Doris has no idea what we’ve been through, obviously. No, we’re not going to call it off. This loan is going to change our lives in a huge way, or I would have walked away weeks ago. Maybe not “finally quit one of my jobs” change, but get us just a little closer to shore than we’ve been doing on our own.
One last big purchase before returning to the spending freeze–we had joked that we would like a new toaster, after 10+ years with a toaster oven that’s been pretty disappointing. I told Tery, “Baby, we close this deal, I’m buying you that new toaster!” So Saturday we strolled into Target like we owned the place and I bought her the shiniest, reddest toaster on the shelf. (Still glad it was on sale though. If I ever became a millionaire, I would still shop the thrift store and combine shipping on Amazon.)