I’m really, really tired of waiting for house news. It’s been well over two months now, and still the bank hasn’t bothered to get back to me. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be for the realtors: if my income was dependent on this, I’d be going insane.
As it is, it’s been a busy few months, what with illness, injuries, emergency room visits and trips to Texas, California, and next week Seattle. And, of course, the interminable teeth appointments. (Implants finally done, braces close to over. Six months from now, I might have working front teeth again.)
So it’s probably just as well that we haven’t had to move yet. But the closer we get to true Florida summer, the more afraid I get. I don’t like it here when it’s too hot to move. I’m dismayed that I have no escapes planned, and yet, it’s hard to plan for an escape when I don’t know when or if we’ll be moving. And the longer nothing is final, the more I agonize over the decisions. To buy or not to buy. To have a pool or not. To send R. to Walden or back to Center. I hate it when my brain starts to travel in circles around questions that I can’t answer.