It's 11:30 at night, and I'm up journaling, praying, blogging. For those of you who know me well, you'll quickly realize that I am up way past my bedtime. I tried to go to bed, and as I lay there, my mind was a flurry with activity, questions plaguing my very being. Uneasy and discontent with the position of my pillow, I flung myself from the bed and trotted upstairs to find my journal.
I wasn't shocked to find that my last entry was February 5, which read like a diary entry from sixth grade (minus the huge crush). Nothing major going on. My worry of the day consisted of Neil forgetting my counseling appointment which I in turn had to cancel. It was only four months ago, and yet seems like a year. There was no mention of my dad, baby #3, or a new home. I almost felt like I needed to fill God in on all the events of time passed, but He of course already knew. He was there. It was all part of His plan. If He had sat me down on February 5 and laid out the next four months, I'd be begging him to reconsider, attempting to negotiate a new deal.
My heart is not calm; my spirit unsettled. The closer we get to selling our house and buying another, the more anxiety builds up inside me. Yes, I realize anxiety is from the pit of hell, but you try telling the butterflies in my stomach that truth. Tonight we ventured into Catonsville to visit a house I've had my eyes on for a while. I was hoping to not fall in love with it, and like always, my earthly hope has failed me. It was utterly adorable inside and out. I could literally see us living there. It's not without it's quirks, but look at Neil and I still married him. Great location, killer school district, play-group worthy backyard, and absolutely fabulous kitchen. But loving this house only made us more willing to consider the offer on our house.
We're going to try and work with the buyers, even though that means giving up my Hollywood debut. Seriously this breaks my heart. I really wanted this. People don't seem to understand why "Get It Sold" was so important to me, and I honestly don't think I can explain. It would have been a dream come true, but so would moving back to Georgia, so I guess in this scenario, dreams are disposable. Listen to that cynicism; thick with bitterness. Hence the question: Why is this so difficult? Shouldn't this be a no brainer; an offer in less than a month, a house we love in the location we wanted (and Baltimore County pay their election judges a ton more than Anne Arundel), and it could all be over before Owen can start preschool in the Fall. This should be joyous, exciting even, and yet here I am crying over my spilled milk.
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