Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Moving On, or, If You Didn't Watch the Last Episode of the Sopranos, You Probably Will Only Want to Read the Middle Section of This Post

The Partner and I packed most of three years into boxes and, on Sunday night, sat in front of a stripped down television set-up. We ate pizza off paper plates. On HBO, Tony and his family were moving on, too. We settled in together for the last time.

There was Junior's blank stare. There was a blank screen.

We sat back and sighed. Life goes on.


It's not going anywhere fast. The buyers of our house decided one week before the scheduled closing that they didn't like some of the particulars of their loan agreement. They are changing lenders. While we are still waiting to hear the new closing date, we can assume that it will be at least one week later than the original--one week being The Partner's optimistic assessment. Me, I'm not drinking from the same half-full glass. While they push back dates, I push back the fear that the deal will fall through. The agent for the buyers assures us that her clients fully intend to buy our house, but the uncertainty is always there.

The boxes are packed. Only the television, DVD player, computers, toaster oven, one pot, a skillet, some cutlery, and a microwavable plate remain in the open. I dress out of a suitcase each morning after rising from a mattress on the floor. It's fine, except that somehow, living stripped-down like this has made room for the kind of worry I don't usually indulge.

I worry about ever actually moving, of course; but then that worry translates to others, like planning for our next child, or freaking out about things that people I don't even know (read: other bloggers) are going through, or contemplating the strange realities of my extended family. The thing I detest most about the process of selling our house is that the uncertainty breeds uncertainty.


Suddenly we are sucked back into Sunday night and our existence is a diner in New Jersey where artful direction makes things seem slow-mo even though they aren't. We are fat-fried and together. Our hearts race as we wait. In limbo, introspection is a long aisle; it is the distance to the opening door.


slouching mom said...

Ahh, so perfect this ending:

In limbo, introspection is a long aisle; it is the distance to the opening door.

Lawyer Mama said...

I love that last line too. It's perfect.

But I also loved "we are fat-fried and together." That made me smile.

Mrs. Chicken said...

What an ending!

So much better than the actual Sopranos ending. I was peeved.

Boz said...

Don't you get a good-faith deposit of some sort for agreeing to sell the house to them? It's been over a year since we went through the process, and it was such as blur; I cannot remember how much we put down on our house. I was pretty sure that the homeowners received a good-faith deposit when we made our offer.

The way I look at it is to prepare for the worst, and hope for the best. The worst is if the deal falls through. If it falls through, I thought you still got some cash to compensate you for your time.

Maybe that isn't something you want to blog about, though. ;)

toyfoto said...

I love your writing. That's all I wanted to say. ... Well, that and that I loved the CAT in the last episode, too.

Mrs. Chicky said...

"Fat-fried and together"

How do you come up with these phrases. Incredible.

Limbo is not a fun place to be. It's so unpleasant that the Catholic church has decided to get rid of the idea all together. You'll move on soon. Good thoughts, hon.

jen said...

oh, nice one, friend. nice one.