We’re coming down to the crunch of our separation. Things are progressing quickly, too quickly according to our accountant friend (AF) who is facilitating all the tricky bits for us. He’s freaking out that we’re rushing things – what if we decide we don’t want to stab each other after all? What if Ex finishes his mid-life crisis and realises he’s throwing away the only woman on earth who will let him in the house without washing his vile feet first? Yeah, nah. We’re done. I’ve been too excited about my independence to back out now, and Ex doesn’t dig fat chicks, so there’s that.
While AF insists that we’re doing this at break-neck speed, it can’t happen soon enough for me. I have six days until the unconditional date for my offer on a house that I love. I can’t get finance until I have my settlement money. I have already extended once, and I worry about it being sold out from under me. It’s a beautiful house, for a brilliant price. But apparently things just don’t happen that quickly.
Ex needs to see his lawyer to draw up a separation agreement, so I wrote him a list of things that needed including.
Because my bank can’t give me answer until we sort out the legal crap, I’m in limbo as to whether I’ll even be approved for finance. I’m still unemployed, which is generally frowned upon when begging for money. I’m lucky that my child support payments are high enough to keep me off a government benefit, but I still need real work. My resume has been everywhere, applications are going out to every job that comes up, but so far, I’ve had little response. Rent in this town is horrendous, if I can’t buy, I’m going to be well and truly up shit creek.
But everything always works out in the end. It always does.