The most intense week of my life, financially speaking, is finally coming to an end. In the Steven Seagal movie version of this week, the all-out smackdown on the edge of the cliff was Thursday, when I had to fax over the papers signing away most of my savings, most of Sarah’s, and all my first-edition Garbage Pail Kids (POW! Off the cliff he goes…) only to hear back from the lender an hour later that the fax didn’t go through (What’s this? He’s back!), forcing me to live through the whole tortuous experience again (KA-WHACK!), only to yet again get a phone call alerting me to the failings of one of our fax devices (Bwahaha! Can’t get rid of me that easy!), by which point I was too busy to try again until several stressful hours later, a time of day that will forever be remembered as “6:00, the hour at which one can fax without developing an ulcer.” (Aims bazooka. Fires.)
And then today came the denouement, where the last remaining honcho of financial leechiness came creeping, limping around the corner, only to be met with a switchblade in the gut, which in my case took the form of a check with too many zeroes, made out to Re/Max for the rest of my earnest money.
Of course I realize that the worst of it is yet to come, in the sequel, when I climb the Himalyan mountain of Downiaka Payamentos. I guess I just took it on faith that everyone was telling the truth when they told me ownership let you keep more of your money than renting. Because right now it seems the last thing my money is doing is staying on my side of the table.