In answer to the question of the day, No, We Have Not Closed Yet. 

There are lots of concerned people in my life and I’m super grateful for the fact that those people still care enough to ask.  But I hate never having new information to give.  It makes me a little more cuckoo than usual.

Nope, no closing.  An excerpt from the voicemail I left for Citi yesterday:  “You are about to lose what amounts to a half million dollar deal over $6500.  Either work this out, or come and foreclose.  There are no other options.”  I was NOT nice.  Between the lawyers calling and the realtors calling, my voicemail was #6 for yesterday.  Squeaky wheel, anyone?  It’s so insane that we are this close ... and yet, nothing.  Both banks are digging in their heels.  Neither is giving.  Neither is talking.  The rest of us are running around, trying to tell the two petulant children we have in our lives to please play nicely or we’re all going down in flames.  So far, threats of time outs and no stories at bedtime have not worked. 

We have no leverage, no ability to say no. The worst part about this process has been that we are at the buyer’s mercy.  We have no alternatives, they know we are backed into a corner.  I can feel the glee emanating from their corner of the world.  Tomorrow they take possession of the house, without paying rent.  If something breaks or they decide they are unhappy with something else (and there’s been plenty so far), we are on the hook for it.  In the meantime, Citi’s collection department calls me no less than 8 times per day (including Sundays!) wanting their mortgage payment.  Oh, the irony!!!  We’d LOVE to give you the money owed if you guys would get your heads out of your rectums long enough to let us close. 

In a “normal” situation, as the seller, making money off the deal, we could have said long ago, “take your money and pound salt”.  Because they are actually negotiating with the banks, we have no say in just about anything.  Every time I want to dig my heels in, my realtor tells me to take a time out or threatens to verbally spank me.  If we call their bluff, we could end up in foreclosure.  And to be this close - for all of us - and still end in foreclosure - well, let’s just say that there will be a lot of angry tears over the situation.  Especially for the buyers and the realtors.  We have no money to make, so it’s a bitter-making potion for us that everyone else is getting the benefits of the disaster that is our life right now.

I don’t know.  I want to be positive - I really do - but I would like to see something become final.  I would like to be able to go away this weekend knowing that the house in Wyndham is gone, baby, gone, and I never, ever have to go back there unless I want to.  I would like the weight of this house off my shoulders for the first time since January, and I would like to sit in the hot springs of Virginia alone with my thoughts about anything - literally anything - other than the house. 

It’s no secret that I have strong associations (and love) for music.  With the exception of screaming speed metal, I can listen to just about anything.  It started way back in 1989, when I DJ’d at a college radio station.  I took the slots they gave me - and one of them was called “The Revolving Fandango”.  It was literally a song from every genre of music one could think of.  Being 17-ish, I had no idea what to play for Blues, or Folk, or C&W, and most of the rock was alternative.  Thankfully I had some education in Jazz courtesy of my dad (he loved to drive my mom nuts with scat jazz).  I would wander around the tiny, smelly (think bean burritos, rank beer, a faint scent of urine, and something that always reminded me of moss) lovingly fingering the album covers, pulling them out and placing them on the turntables. 

Because 90% of this music was new to me, I learned A LOT about music genres and my taste buds for music became far more sophisticated than my taste buds for food.  It’s still that way. 

Along the way, music has been a backdrop for whatever I was going through in my life.  I would bond with albums and later CDs and now MP3s like lovers, depending on my mood and their staying power.  During the initial stage of my separation, I listened incessantly to Iron and Wine, Shawn Colvin and David Gray’s Draw the Line, which to this day I swear he wrote just for me. 

Nicole told me I had to listen to the new Court Yard Hounds offering.  Never a huge fan of traditional country music, I do confess to liking the Dixie Chicks.  I like them still with their lead singer on hiatus from them.  Emily Robison’s divorce obviously plays a huge part in the songwriting.  Nothing soothes my broken-down soul than other women crooning their way through their broken fairytales.  Misery indeed loves company. 

The opening song is called “Skyline” and I’ve put it right down there for you.  It’s my life, in this moment, in a nutshell.  Or an MP3 player, embedded on this site, which is way more tech savvy than a nutshell.  (or not so much, considering it took a good 30 minutes to figure out how to do this)

If you don’t feel like listening to the song (but you should), the lyrics are as follows:

What am I doin’ here
In such a lonely place?
Birds fly below
I’m high up in my cage

Wide awake again
Or am I dreamin’?
Trains passing by
World’s spinning ‘round my head

Then I heard a sweet voice cry
Telling me, yeah it’s gonna be alright

I just look at the skyline
A million lights are lookin’ back at me
And when they shine
I see a place I know I’ll find some peace
I just look at the skyline

I used to rush around
To keep busy in the day
Then we’d sit up and drink
We might find something new to say
No, I can’t live this way…

But then I heard that sweet voice cry
Telling me, yeah it’s gonna be alright

I just look at the skyline
A million lights are lookin’ back at me
And when they shine
I see a place I know I’ll find some peace
I just look at the skyline

I look at the skyline
A million lights are lookin’ back at me
And when they shine
I see a place I know I’ll find some peace
I just look at the skyline

What am I doin’ here
In such a lonely place?

In other non-divorce-related news . . .

Lily has always been fascinated with art. She’s been drawing since she could hold any type of instrument with color in it.  Her first grade class had a final project, and it was to draw the Queen of England.  Here’s her rendition:

Considering my artistic abilities consist of stick figures and lines that are never straight, I was impressed that my 7 year old is already drawing better than me.  She did it in watercolors and proudly explained that she made the “peach” color by mixing pink and yellow and a tiny bit of brown to give it just the right shade.  Arden’s teachers also tell me she’s advanced in art, but when they are your kids, it’s just the way they are.  I really try not to be like many of the moms I know, who think every little thing their child does is the BEST, most BRILLIANT, most GENIUS thing on earth.  Everyone has their talents and skills; Lily’s is definitely art and writing.  I can only take credit for the writing. 

Her first grade recognition assembly is on Thursday; she’s getting an award for something that will hopefully make sense during the presentation (it’s called something like “Appreciating Differences”) and an award for missing only 1 day of school and no tardies.  She would have had perfect attendance had I not given us all the stomach flu.  Way to go, mom!

I can be annoyingly chipper at times, and unfortunately, little bits of words or songs lodge themselves like broken glass in my brain.  I use these shards to torment my friends and family, sometimes repeating jingles from commercials originally aired in 1974 (remember Rainier Beer?  Yeah, I can do the entire motorcycle sound they made for the commercial).  If there’s an inappropriate time to belt out the Leave it to Beaver theme, I will do it, you betcha. 

Lately I’ve been annoying the hell out of myself with tidbits from Finding Nemo.  My kids haven’t watched it in at least 6 months, but I keep hearing Ellen Degeneres’ voice as Dory screaming, “Just Keep Swimming . . .Just Keep Swimming!”  I also love that she calls Nemo’s dad “Mr. Grumpy Gills”.  Considering I frequently refer to Arden as Mistress Grouchy, it fits. 

I think it’s stuck in my head for a reason.  I have to keep swimming - got no choice, really.  Tomorrow the move officially begins.  Friends from all over are descending with paintbrushes and alcohol, and Dan is threatening to make burgers on a Foreman grill at the new house to feed us all.  I’m definitely swimming, but there are a lot of fish in the water with me.  Here’s where I would normally insert a cheesy reference to my “school” of friends, but Imma Gonna Skip It. 

...my best friend received a devastating diagnosis.
...I found out I need a biopsy (it’s happening tomorrow!)
...I missed some major warning signs about a person in my life and really screwed things up.
...I continued to put myself last behind everyone else and their brother.
...I asked for help from people i didn’t want to help me, but had no choice.
...I helped someone i love learn how to commit someone they love to a mental hospital against their will.

it’s no wonder i have gotten NO work done and am so far behind that at this point, i don’t think i will ever catch up. 

my best friend wrote to me a couple of days again, and something she said really resonated with me.  she said: 

I’m changing a lot of the priorities and friendships in my life.  It just makes you recognize how petty and superficial a lot of the shit in life is.  I’m trying to clear that out and make room for what’s important.  And for that, I am grateful.  I think a lot of people live their whole lives trying to gain the approval of others and over the course of the past six months, I have just about totally eliminated a lot of the bullshit.  It also means I am eliminating friends, but that’s OK.  They weren’t real friends to begin with.

i’ve been going through that process for the last 8 months.  and even though right now it feels like the entire karmic universe is pooping on my head for sins i’ve committed that i’m unaware of (well, some of them, at least), another friend mentioned that “god is trying to get your attention”.  that’s possible too.  my attention has been gotten.  i’ve been faced with just about every nightmare situation i can come up with, yet i’m still able to hold my children at night and breathe in their sleepy scents.  even in the midst of what is most definitely a hurricane of epic emotional proportions, i continue to write about gratitude, model good behavior for certain people in my life, and attempt to balance on the fine point between supportive and enabling. 

i need to follow my best friend’s advice.  life really is too short.  you have no idea what curve balls are going to be thrown at you.  my life’s goal is not to be happy; happiness is fleeting.  life is hard and full of moments of joy or sadness.  being content, or secure in the decisions you’ve made, is what it’s all about for me.  learning not to get wrapped up in other’s issues, and help and hold the ones who deserve all that i have to offer, has been a hard lesson for me.  oddly i feel stronger right now than i’ve ever felt. 

as i changed the water filter in my expensive high-end refrigerator that will be left behind along with the rest of this ridiculous house, i realized it was the last time i’d ever have to change it.  the new refrigerator has no ice maker or water dispenser.  it sits on a floor of yellowed linoleum that probably should have been replaced a minimum of 15 years ago.  for the first time, i couldn’t wait to get onto that linoleum and back to ice cube trays.  i haven’t been on my own since 1999.  having my own space, being alone with the girls and the dog, getting some breathing room and figuring out why this all happened and why right now, seems necessary. 

i’ve reached a level of peace with my situation and for that i am most grateful.  our short sale may very well fall through; the second mortgage company is still dragging their feet, and the buyers are getting very nervous.  we are reaching month 4 of waiting.  regardless, i’m moving out.  mike has already left.  the house will sit here, empty, waiting for either a new family to come in and love it, or for the bank to come and take it.  i realize that there is absolutely NOTHING i can do about it - and i’m totally fine with it.  i can’t control what happens to me financially at this point and am making the best of an absolutely horrendous situation.  do i still have guilt that the father of my children is being dragged into this hell unwillingly?  i do, but i also know that he will end up much happier without me and with someone else than he realizes at this point.

i’m getting ready to say goodbye to dan and nicole, two people who have never hesitated to help when i’ve needed it.  hopefully i’ve been there for them as well.  there will be a legendary party at the house on saturday - it’s a graduation party for one of the few people i’ve ever known who graduated summa cum laude and know how to pronounce it.

(when i pronounced it, it sounded like the title of a porno)

they’re totally worth the drive to blacksburg, however, and i’ll be darkening their doorstep as much as i can, probably with two kids in tow. 

in the meantime, i’m going to keep focusing on the gratitude.  and trying to learn from my mistakes. 

Hey, look!  I’m still standing . . . to quote Elton John and his big goofy glasses.  Try not to pay attention to the fishing line wrapped around me, holding me up.  If it LOOKS like I’m standing, it totally counts. 

Earlier in the week we received approval from our first mortgage company (CitiMortgage) on the short sale.  The second mortgage company - who happens to be SunTrust - has been nothing but a pain in the ass since this all started.  Who can blame them, really?  The first mortgage company gets a chunk of cash, not to mention the gajillions of interest charged for the past 4 years.  SunTrust will get nothing.  Not a dime.  They could try to sue us - and maybe they will - but what are they going to sue us for?  A rental apartment?  A farting labrador?  Maybe a 401(k).  Still, our first mortgage company has told us we must close by June 3.  Happy to do that, but we can’t until SunTrust decides what they’re doing.  So now our realtor has to go back again and negotiate an extension for us. 

Frustrating as well because SunTrust is local, but has been impossible to reach.  Their customer service is, well, lacking at best, nearly criminal at worst.  Some departments only allow you to communicate with them via fax.  They apparently haven’t heard about telephones.  Or email.  Or they’ve heard of them, and have decided, “Meh.  Why bother with those when we can hide behind a fax machine?”  CitiMortgage on the other hand has been efficient, polite, easy to reach, and did I already say, efficient? It’s a much better organization and structure for this kind of unpleasantness. 

Our most fabulous (and incredibly patient) realtor asked me today if I was hanging in there.  Yep, I said.  I am.  But I am definitely getting to the end of my rope over here.  Between a divorce, packing this entire monstrosity alone, the emotional toll, caring for my children, dealing with a couple of friendships that really need to change or end, and my job (which suddenly is going nuts - yay money, boo timing!), I am truly very tired now.  I had a medical procedure done earlier in the week.  Normally I’d be bouncing off the walls by now, but it threw me for a loop.  I am still tired, cranky, sore, and unable to be excited about anything.  Forcing myself to run or swim laps is as appealing as scrubbing grout on my hands and knees, or listening to another Junie B. Jones book. 

I try to look around me and see progress.  But right now, as I look around, I realize that I’ve forgotten to take that picture down, or that I really haven’t cleaned out my closet, or that I’m going to find another unpleasant surprise in a drawer somewhere (like when I found my husband’s wedding ring shoved into a toothbrush holder and thrown into a drawer).  There are little “Fuck You’s” all over the house - excuse my French, but that’s what they are - and I don’t blame him.  Packing up and tearing apart is hard enough.  The FU’s are, as I enjoy saying, the cherry on my shit sundae. 

I’ve hired a moving company, gotten all of the utilities set up at the rental house, bought all of the paint, coerced, begged and threatened every person I know within a 50 mile radius into either helping with the kids or picking up a paintbrush or scrubbing a floor, packed about 1/4 of the house, sorted and sold over 150 books (and there’s still an attic full of them), removed all of my yard stuff that I can, and begun sorting the garage.  I’m making progress, but for someone who’s mantra has always been “just get it done”, I’m really not getting it done.  It’s May 6, and I am moving.  I am not ready. 

I’ve got two very difficult discussions scheduled for the next week.  I don’t want to have either of them, but I must.  Since I am always saying 2010 is the year of honesty, I also have to admit that 2010 is the year of admitting when enough is too much, and when I have to draw the line between being supportive and loyal and when I’m hurting myself by doing so.  Honesty is great in theory but it sucks to implement. 

In the meantime, if any of my readers are in the SunTrust short sale department, could y’all please install that crazy thing known as a telephone, and could you also light a fire under your ass?  We’re dying over here.