Rachael

So it goes like this: I’m on my couch yesterday afternoon, almost in tears because I’m SO tired and SO scared all of a sudden. I haven’t been sleeping well, waiting for the call from the realtor that never comes.

I call the office. My realtor’s brother says, “Oh, she was going to call you in about two minutes. I just got off the phone with her.”

“Is it good news or bad?”

“Ummm…. mediocre?”

I start to shake. Luckily, she really does call me. This is the sitch. The lender has a problem with the loan because the home-owners’ association ran in the red a couple of years ago. They had a repair that had to be made and there wasn’t enough money in the general fund (because it’s a 4-plex there’s not much money to be had). They don’t like it. My realtor has been fighting with them, and they’re sending it now to Corporate and Legal. The decision should be made by Tuesday (haven’t I heard that before?). My realtor already has another loan package put together and ready to send to another lender, should this one fall through. But will that lender like me? Who knows? They might be happy with the HOA but not with my finances…. The seller, luckily, is willing to wait. A blessing, that.

Anyway. I still have to move. My realtor and her brother have a duplex in a really great area in Piedmont and she wants me to rent it if this drags on a while. I, on the other hand, would be happier couch-surfing if it’s only going to be a few weeks or so. But if the place falls all the way through and I have to start looking all over again, I’ll take the apartment and move twice.

Move twice.

I can hardly bear the thought.

I had a major melt-down on the couch. I called Marama and bawled an unintelligible message on her machine. I grumped out and cried to sister Christy. I told Lala I didn’t want her to come over — I would stick it out myself. I would be strong. I would pack. Then I melted down all over again and asked her to come over. She was amazing and strong and we watched an episode of Lost. I didn’t pack. It was great.

This much I know: I have to get into a place. I need to own a property. I’ve come this far, I can’t stop now. It might suck for a while, this part might be really, really hard, but I just have to get through it.

I didn’t like the way I felt yesterday. I’m going to try to avoid that as much as possible. I need more sleep, boy howdy do I. I need more baths. More ice cream wouldn’t hurt. More time to pack, but I’m not going to get that, so I have to do the best I can with what I’ve got.

This housing thing ain’t for the weak, is it? They’d get tromped into the mud. Sheesh. But really, truly, I’m all right, and my heart is stronger now. It’ll work out for the best.

Aren’t you tired of hearing all about this? Cromarty is put together! She needs neckbands, and we’ll be havin’ a party. Speaking of parties, if you’re in the Bay Area, Becca’s having a KIP get-together tomorrow. I can’t make it, but maybe some of y’all can?

Peace, love, out. I’ll let you know when I hear more.
MWAH! (typo: MWHAT — twice.)

I just re-read yesterday’s post. I’m Luke’s favorite lay-dee. Does anyone besides me hear Andre the Giant saying, “Hello, lay-dee,” whenever you read/hear that?

I’m done with the body of Cromarty! (I’m tired; I just typed a question mark after that instead of the exclamation mark it deserved. And then that had the power to make me doubt myself. Did I? Finish the body? Yes, yes, I did.) So I’ll start seaming tonight, and then I have to do the cabled neckbands and attach ’em and she’ll be done. You know when you’re reading that *really* good book and it’s about to end and you feel the end-of-book-remorse? I’m starting to feel that. Alice Starmore, she might sing her siren song again…. Or Dale. I could use a Dale. I can’t *afford* a Dale, but I could use one. Humm. Color. I might be in the mood for COLOR next. Something in Svale. But cables, they’re what I love. Oh, the options. And I’m convinced I want to do a lo-tech sweat in Lion Brand Homespun, taking my cue from our beloved Ryan. Serve me up some Crapyarn. I’m ready. No lie, I added up the expense of the yarn in Cromarty and the labor involved, and it was well over three grand, and that was a while ago. I need a nice seventeen dollar sweater, stat.

That is all. I’m going to see the Old 97’s tomorrow night at the Fillmore with my gal. We have a Date, o joy. And then I’ll run ten measly miles on Sunday and then pack a whole hell of a lot. I’ve got to get on it. Still nothing heard about the loan. Zenning it now. All good.

Happy weekend to you! (Didn’t I *just* say that? Time flies.) (Sometimes cliches make me very happy, something to do with a phrase’s kitsch value.)

I’ve told you before about the couple who live next door to me, the young British couple with their two little kids. They actually own George, the Giant Aloe. My windows look into their yard, and I’ve spent happy hours watching Chris build things and Lisa play with the little ones. They’re one of those happy families that do the heart good to witness.

So yesterday when I was going through art supplies and found a HUGE box of Crayons, the super-duper crazy-cool hard-sided box, I took it next door. The kids are about four and five, and I think that’s the right time for Crayons…. I hope it is, anyway. I knocked on the door and waited. Then I rang the doorbell and waited. I stood on the porch and waved at Shirley who was walking by with her slobbery German Shepherd named Shadow, and I watched the nice lesbian couple across the street – we’ve never formally met each other, but we smile conspiringly when we pass on the street. I’m going to MISS this place.

Then the door opened, and little four year old Luke was standing there, naked as the day he was born, grinning at me with this huge beaming smile. Lisa came up behind him quickly and said, “Good god. Sorry about that.” She took the Crayons and thanked me and then gave me the best compliment ever. Luke was still standing there, looking SO happy to be gazing up at me, dancing from foot and foot, and Lisa said, “You’re his favorite lady, you know. He says it every time he sees you. ‘There’s my favorite lady.’”

Dude. When a little boy with those angelic curls says that about you, you can’t help feeling pretty awesome.

So I’m packing now. I’ve really started. It’s just as terrifying, and I still haven’t heard about the loan, but it’s good to have started. I began with the hardest part, too: The Desk of Doom. I hate that desk. It’s possessed. Every time I’ve moved it, I’ve sworn I wouldn’t do it again, because it cruelly attacks at least one person, usually drawing blood. It’s heavy as hell and too big and really ugly. And it’s broken in about five places. I have NO clue why I’ve dragged it around with me. A writer needs a big desk, I thought. How often have I written at that desk? Like, never. So it goes. I’m going to finish cleaning it out tomorrow (since I have to go in to work early tonight and only have time for a run and a shower) and then give it away to some sucker. I’m not telling said sucker about the blood-drawing, either. He can find that out on his own. I’m no dummy.

Well, nothing heard from the loan office, but who the hell cares when our gorgeous Cari is doing THIS?

And hey! Guess what? It’s La Brainy’s birthday! She of the excellent cat and wanderlust, she’s flippin’ the calendar over again, and looking better every minute. Go show her the love, wouldja? Darlin’, we adore you. GAWK on.

https://rachaelherron.com/well_nothing_he/

Dear Reader Sparkle said in an email to me, “Your energy feels kinda funky behind the blog.” I have to agree. Standing behind this blog, looking out toward you, I can admit that it’s just plain ole fear that’s making me a little weird. I’m not normally scared. I have the normal fears, of course, of fire and nuclear weapons and being tied to a red-ant hill by a short man with a scrubby goatee, but day-to-day, facing big things, I’m usually pretty strong.

I’ve found the point at which I stop being strong and start shaking in my sandals: When I have to pack boxes in preparation for moving out of the apartment I’ve loved more than any other, with little to no guarantee that I have a place to move into at the end of the month. The loan docs still haven’t come through yet. They were supposed to be in on Friday. Nope. Monday was a holiday. No phone call yesterday. Today? Here’s hoping. Here’s hoping super hard hope. I think if I signed documents and had a wee bit more assurance they’re not going to find a financial glitch or a problem with the property, I could have fun packing. I really could. Moving into my first home? Fabulous. Bring it. But this not knowing? I’m scared, and I’m putting off the packing, NOT a good idea, when I need to move the big stuff by October 24th.

Oy. My aching head.

You know what’s good for this kind of stress? (Quit it. This is not that kind of a blog.) (Okay, yeah, it helps. Happy? Really, people.) Good for stress: Ice cream, and a lot of it. Running (it really felt like I was training for Hawaii yesterday, 85 degrees and humid, even down by the water). Knitting Cromarty. I’m almost finished with this bad boy, and somehow the high level of difficulty is what my hands want to work on. I suppose it’s distraction in a way — stockinette allows me to worry, even if it’s only low-grade. A gajillion teeny-tiny cables make me focus for a few minutes.

I’ll keep you posted, I promise.

Now, pics of the Knit-Out. I don’t need to summarize what happened, ’cause my fabulous fellows have already done it for me. Go see Joanna, Celia, Nathania, Emily, Christine, and Silvia , who all do a great job of telling it like it was.

A group shot:

Won-Ju, Kira, and Rachel:

Nathania, bein’ surprised her Secret Pal tracked her to the Cafe:

We’re jealous; she got a GOOD Secret Pal (and I know who it is, neener neener neener):

Mystery Guest revealed!

Me’n’Won-Ju, Lala‘s wonderful, beautiful sister-in-law:

There were a coupla shots of me and Lala, and lemme tell ya. Y’ain’t gonna see ’em. Celia’s shot of my forty-seven double chins is enough for me. I don’t need to validate that on my own blog. Nuh-uh.

I’m immensely cheered now. What will be, will be. If I get the condo, good. If I don’t, something better is out there. At this moment, my heart knows that’s right, and I think it was thinking about my knitblog pals that made me realize that. Seriously. Look where the heart leads, after all, yes?

Assured MWAH!

Four hours. I just lost four hours trying to get onto the internet. Here I am! I shake my pompoms weakly in your direction. And I’m up for very little else. I’d love to write about our FABULOUS KnitOut on Sunday, or about driving all day yesterday up and down the coast (delivering Mom home and kitties to their temporary digs while I pack), but I’m hot and sweaty and disgruntled and I need to run. Really. I need to get some of this frustration out of my system.

Going offline again now. On purpose this time. Tomorrow, KnitOut pics? Hopefully.
Weak mwah….