cross your heart and turn around twice

My throat aches and I am starting to think all the symptoms of illness I've had in the past week are anxiety made physical. Well, that and my steady diet of caffiene, fruit popsicles and croissants. There have been many bad dreams too - dreams about working for the mafia, dreams where Mike dies and I can't make the house payments, dreams where bad things happen and I'm helpless to stop them.

I am a superstitious person often. I have a rule that if I want something, it must never be spoken. Wishing too much, or talking about it can make it not happen. Wanting it too much can take it away. I know this is just a bad habit designed to keep me from being too disappointed in life. But after living through the mad years, a broken engagement, a broken marriage and the unstoppable heartbreak of blood ties there had to be something.

Things change, whether we want it or not. I got up this morning because we have closing in three hours to sign all those papers. Last night the real estate agent for the seller gave us the house keys and we stood in the empty space in wonder. The hideous palm tree is gone from the front yard. It's beautiful and silent and ours to fill. The movers are scheduled for Saturday afternoon to carry the furniture and boxes of books.

This morning I had an email from Figure Prints, saying I was selected in the monthly drawing. Since their production capacity is not large enough to handle 12 million World of Warcraft players all at once, they have drawings to select a number of people able to purchase every month. I've been in this drawing since the beginning and have never thought I would be able to get one. But there it is, and I confess that I really am going to spend the money to have a Sadpear figurine.

It seemed like a sign, a bright flash of luck in the predawn darkness. Maybe things are going to be okay, turn out alright and there isn't some terrible disaster waiting for me for daring to want.

We're buying a house today.

reason number 5,489 to hate the post

At the post office, we were told we won't be able to get a mail box key until next Tuesday after 3:30pm. Those change of address forms I filled out weeks ago? With the start date of 8/15/08? Apparently totally irrelevant. The zombified postal worker said we would not receive any mail for up to two weeks. Apparently it will all pile up at the post station. However we are not allowed to retrieve any of it. I have never experienced such a thing.

What the fucking fuck? That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard and I've heard a lot of batshit crazy from the post office. I told Mike that I would rather shoot myself in the foot than have to deal with the post and it is true. Two weeks? Um, hello? People sometimes get bills and important things in the mail. The fact that they are going to hold it all at the post office and NOT LET US PICK IT UP is what is really filling me with rage at the moment.

I could feel the acid in my throat as I left the building. Too bad I can't spit acid or something like that. aaaaaaaaaaaaa.

In less bilious news, our closing went super smooth. The eight hundred pieces of paper were signed and initialed. They bound copies in a nice little book and burned us a CD. Due to some of the crazy math of the FHA loan and the seller paying the closing costs, we ended up with a $550 check. That's right. It was sort of surreal since it was sweetlord thirty in the morning (8:30am) which is normally the middle of my sleeping hours. But it is done, we have all the house keys and garage door openers.

ZOMG WE CAN HAZ A HAUS NAO! Oh my sweet IKEA remodeled kitchen with the gas stove top and electric oven. I can't wait to use you. It will be soon too, because I must bake pies for our realtor and mortgage lady in thanks. We plan on throwing a "hey we bought a house and by the way got married" party sometime soon. Tomorrow the movers come to carry all the furniture and boxes.

Just Say No to Bongos

Our neighbors are playing guitar and wailing. I believe they may also have bongos. This is what marijuana does to you kids - it turns you into annoying, doped up assholes who play bongos and wail like the worst country singer on earth crossed with Bob Dylan.

Last night dealing with them. Last night. Good thing too, or I would probably end up killing them.