Yesterday was emotionally intense. Around 3 I got a text from my Realtor and she told me that she had hung up with the Chief Operating Officer (COO) of the company who puts together projects for home sales. He felt badly about my getting stung at the house and winding up in Urgent Care, so he’s hiring out the landscaping. He called me about an hour later and told me that he was sorry. That went a long way for me. This process has been a complete freakshow. I liked having that acknowledged. I’m still going to write him out a timeline of everything. The house was supposed to be listed 7/1 and the company said that we could after 6/16. Here we are!

Shortly after I hung up with the COO, another Project Manager called me. He and I are meeting with landscaper today, and I’m hoping that we’ll also have time before I bowl tonight to document in pictures the horrible work and destruction. I want to also show him all the messes–like dumping joint compound and paint into the carport. I also want him to have photos that he takes and uploads of the destroyed sleeper sofa to the front facing app that the company uses for project updates. I wonder if there is paint on the carpet or problems under where they put it in the now finished basement? That wouldn’t shock me.

The day before the neighbors who want to buy the house cancelled a meeting with my Realtor and hired a Realtor. I was so upset. Mine explained to me that just means that they have to pay her and pay theirs. It’s dumb. Also, it makes me feel as if they don’t trust me at all. So, I’ve made a decision. The house is worth 525k now, and so they can have it for 500k. If that isn’t acceptable, I’ll get it looking pristine and we’ll go through the whole staging process–I have things to put in it–and list it. It will sell for well over 525k then, and I don’t need the money soon anyway.

I have decided that one thing that I want is a porch extension. I don’t like shoes in house. I want to design a little entryway because my porch is scary and people fall off of it anyway due to the height, and I’d like the sides of the small entryway to have boxes inside. I’ll call it the shoebox. People can put their shoes in the boxes. They put them back on when they leave. I’m going to use the money for it and then get the rest in CDs and another account so I can move $7,500 a year into my IRA. I don’t want my lifestyle to shift very much. I do want that one thing: the shoebox. There are certainly other things that I want to do in my old house, but can do them anyway when I’m not paying monthly maintenance to my ex-wife. Two payments left!

So, my Realtor is to thank for this shift. She and I had to text much of the day yesterday. She’s such an ace.

It’s been weird to work on the house. It made me think of my Dad a whole bunch too, and I scanned a picture of me in elementary school and one of him from high school and made a FB post. I look identical to him. My son does too, but has brown hair and blue eyes, so people don’t see the resemblance which is uncanny, because people are obsessed with skin and eye color. Good old threads of racism. Anyway, it’s just been heavy.

As a result of all the emotion and the savior complex that now I’ve put the Realtor in, I had another dream about her. It was one of those where she was coming onto me and I was confused by it. We did wind up kissing and such. It’s a dream, and I don’t confuse it with reality. I also don’t touch or hug her. I’m good with boundaries. Crushes, even when you’re 48-years-old are just sucky.