We are at the ugliest stage of the home purchase. Where you are not worrying about the money or packing (you are beyond caring) and have stopped even reading things before you sign them (if you don't sign we have to start over--death is better than starting over!) and have starting having arguments that involve stomping and flinging papers in the driveway. And that is just J's share, mine is to start to cry, "I'M NOT STUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPID I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND" and sniveling like a goon.
I don't care anymore. I don't care about any of it, I just want to move and get into my new house and take a bath in my new tub and probably fucking flash the neighbors and make out with my new dining room floors. Yes, I want the money thing to work out. And I want everything to be tidy and legal. And I sure would like to be married at the end of all of this. Everything else is negotiable at this point y'all.
I am not going back to work until we are in the new place. I have eighty-four thousand boxes to pack, eighty-four thousand fights to have in a high shrill voice with my husband and eighty-four thousand things to freak the fuck out about. But in a few days we will be in the new place, cursing the blinds we are trying to put up to hide our naked asses from the neighbors and life can go back to normal.
And we can fight about the Yankees/Red Sox again.