Totally off topic, but it’s my personal ‘drama’. 😉
So… where to even begin? Hubs, Napoleon and I were supposed to move this last weekend. We had a place, less than ideal, but a roof over our heads none the less. It’s the house in my home and native land, Ballard (apologies for taking liberties with your anthem, Canada). The last weekend of April, Hubs found a different house that he was instantly hooked on. He called the landlord multiple times that weekend, trying to set up a viewing. No luck. The guy was totally incommunicado. So the plan to move into the Ballard house rolled on. Then, the guy called back (he’d been out-of-town *if I could raise one eyebrow, I would*) and set up a viewing appointment for us on Sunday. Which led to epic stress. We were supposed to be out of the current place this last weekend, which led us to the very unfortunate position of needing to move twice. In one week. Which is an ugly, brutal, demoralizing thought. Flash forward to finally getting a hold of current landlords, and them agreeing to let us stay here through this weekend. So last weekend’s move is now this weekend’s move. But, it’s only one move. And that comes in at “beyond words” on the relief scale. *major sigh of relief*
My frustration was stemming partly from Hubs trying to change plans at what felt like the last minute. It was less frustration aimed at him than at the last minute change. I’m fine with change if I instigate it. It’s harder for me when someone/anyone else springs it on me. Thanks for that one, Dad. Combine that with not being able to get in contact with people in a timely fashion and I was frazzled. I am clearly a product of my generation, and apparently feel that all people should be constantly accessible. Note to self: this is not true, and even less true when you’re stressed out.
But in the end, things have worked themselves out. And we got the call this morning, saying the place is ours!