8 days till closing. Too much pressure.

Hell according to (1) Hieronymous Bosch, (2) Gustave Doré, and (3) a scorned wife.

8 days till closing

We didn't expect to close on the house until August 11th, but the sellers were extremely motivated, so they've done everything they can possibly, legally do to help us set a June closing date. June 25th is the golden day.

One devastating caveat (for me): We won't be able to actually move until August, if we go with Mack's preference. He's concerned about funds.

Personally, I think the budget will allow us to move comfortably. But then, I'm not the breadwinner. I'm not the one who is exiled to the southeastern quadrant of the Earth every 30 days, for 30 days. I can't in good conscience oppose a strategy he -- in good conscience -- prefers.

I'm burned out on the purchase process. I've figured, adjusted, refigured, and readjusted the monthly budget and moving budget probably every day for the past month. I've been texting and emailing the agent at least three days a week to stay on top of the requirements. I feel like I've negotiated my very last brain cell in preparation for this.

I lost it this morning. It all finally did me in. Mack's second day home, and my temper checked out and ran away. Along with a full coffee cup -- went sailing across the kitchen.

But I didn't swear.

We're supposed to drive into Leesville tomorrow to meet with an attorney and the sellers to sign some related contracts. A trip like that, trapped in a silent vehicle with the opposition for 2.5 hours each way... worse than either Hieronymous Bosch or Dante could conceive.

The right and reasonable thing to do is to take the high road and clear the air so we can take care of business. But the pressure has gotten the best of me. I'm sapped.