Cross your fingers hard and tight for the next week or so. The one crazy loan lady who thought my application was worth submitting has actually gotten me pre-approved to buy this building1.
What does this mean? It means that all of my precious confidential information is soon to be on an underwriter’s desk. He or she will try to decipher the convoluted contract (written over two months on eleven pages in type and by hand, some by a lawyer, some by a realtor, some by us common folk), will assess risk and crunch numbers and, ultimately, give it a stamp with a big old smiley face that reads “We love you, Melanie!”
That or he’ll just fart on it and put it into his basket labeled “shred.”
Thursday I’ll spend about five hours (and five hundred dollars) with a building inspector who will, hopefully, tell me that, though it certainly doesn’t look very good, it is good.
What a process. It’s been hard to know at times if I really still wanted to get it or if I was just caught up in a game. I can be competitive, you see, so I worried at times that I might just be trying to win for the sake of winning, forgetting to reassess whether or not I actually wanted the “prize” anymore. But I’m a firm believer that faith which does not doubt is no kind of faith worth having, and brother, have I doubted.
I won’t be sorry to see this part of the process come to an end, even if the scene closes with a flatulent underwriter. Its been difficult to keep a foot firmly on the ground these past couple of months. Especially since my other half, usually so well grounded he’s half buried in the sand, is having a major meltdown of barriers erected well before he’d been on the planet more than two decades. A lot of muck comes to the surface when a family member ends up in the ICU. But that is a story for another day.
I’d say tomorrow, but I’d like to invite Danyou Street George over for Salmon Green Curry, Pad Thai (sour and spicy, not cloyingly sweet and slimy), and sticky rice. Oh, maybe papaya salad, too. I wish I could send smells through this here machine. I toss a few at you right now.
- Have I mentioned how very often I have heard the phrase “waste of time” lately? This lady has also used the phrase, but to tell me that she, unlike every other mortgage broker and/or banker in my world, did not think I was a waste of hers. [↩]
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