The sun set this evening on the Home of the Bitingmidge, perhaps for the first time with an unconditional contract of sale, perhaps after nearly nine months, we have a binding contract in place. It wasn't spectacular, just a dull red glow and a sort of fizzle. Today was the day that the building and pest report condition expired. We heard nought, notwithstanding that a note arriving at a minute to closing time may not have got to us. That should be a very comforting sign, but I am as restless as a wattle in a willy willy, just waiting for the next turn. I suspect those emotions too will fizzle in a day or two.
Others in the street who are not quite as advanced with their contracts have no certainty at all, and the atmosphere in the neighbourhood is "interesting" to say the least.
We have a lovely old blue car that no one wants to buy, but I'd rather that than a house.
Joan observed that I perhaps have bitten off rather a lot at the moment, but while chewing like mad from my perspective it seems I've been force fed! My subconscious is working on the problem though.
Last night I dreamt that the calendar was one of those puzzles with tiles that can be slid round to change the order until a word or picture is formed. It was terrific, I neatly slid the "17" date/tile to yesterday and woke up with a new granddaughter born exactly on time, but with two weeks left to get to the point where the seventeenth once was, thus saving us an anxious two weeks but not burning any of our life away.
I think I might have invented a revolutionary new time management system.