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Friday, June 17 2016
Gretchen flew down to Raleigh this afternoon to participate in Triangle Vegfest, where she would be reading poetry, signing books, and judging some truly dreadful vegan mac & cheese. Meanwhile I had a relatively relaxing workday in the laboratory. But then Gretchen called from the Detroit airport (for the convenience of flying out of Newburgh, she'd had to go through Detroit) saying that there was yet another hold up in the purchase of the brick mansion. An unexpected waiting period regarding the mortgage on the house we live in had caused her to get an emergency bridge loan from her father, but now she'd just learned that there was an additional problem with that mortgage. Evidently there are two open files on our house down at the Hurley Townhall. While one of those concerned the occupancy of the laboratory (a recurring problem since 2005), the other concerned the garage beneath it (and actually dated from before we'd bought the house, raising the question of how we'd managed to get a short term mortgage on the house back in 2002). Gretchen wanted me to call the Town of Hurley to plead with them, but I had my doubts I'd be as successful at that as Gretchen would be. And then it turned out that I'd failed to answer a call from our attorney, a fuckup that threw Gretchen into something of a rage (her rages toward me tend to be more icy than hot). After I got off the phone, though, I realized that, now that we had a bridge loan, none of the stuff about the house we live in and the mortgage we're getting on it has to affect the purchase of the brick mansion. So I called Gretchen up and told her this. In her anxiety about all the waiting periods and building issues, she'd somehow forgotten to internalize how many problems were being solved by that bridge loan. With this information, Gretchen immediately decided I'd redeemed myself about the missed phone call from the lawyer. I should mention that this entire experience, involving a loan officer at our credit union, our real estate attorney, and our real estate agent had been extremely frustrating for Gretchen, what with all the things that people were supposed to (but failing to) tell her. This morning, after learning of that unexpected mandatory waiting period, she'd yelled at our loan officer and called him unprofessional. She's also been dismayed at the slow performance of (and poor quality of information from) our lawyer. The only person in all of this who seems to have been doing a good job has been our real estate agent, though she often seems to me as if whatever medication she's on isn't quite working.
Speaking of medication, after that crisis was over, I ground up 25 milligrams of time-release amphetamine salts, mixed them with hot water, and drank them directly from the mortar. This helped give me the focus to figure out how a form-letter-processing system worked. But it also made me sort of a crackhead when I was trying write a quick and dirty SQL query to help someone in The Organization's Development department.
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