Last night we checked out another house, a big, beautiful colonial in a great location—a place with a lot going for it and loads of untapped potential. We made an offer: it went in by fax at about 9:00 PM last night. The owners have until 6:00 PM tonight to accept, reject, or counter.
As you can imagine, we didn’t sleep worth a goddam last night, and D’s concentration and mine are both a tad subpar today. It’s fucking killing us, to be blunt.
The place has been on the market on and off for nine months, and has just been re-listed at a new price—one that’s within our means. It was first listed on Monday, and a whole troop of people have presumably already been through (we actually met another couple coming out the door with their realtor while were on our way in with ours). I’m getting horrible echoes of what happened with the other house we bid on—another reduced re-list, which sold on the first day it was open for viewings, where our offer was beaten by hours and a few thousand dollars.
Hope and Fear have nestled uncomfortably in an out-of-the-way corner of my guts, and are busily kicking the shit out of each other.
Meanwhile, six o’clock seems to be getting no nearer.
I think I just saw the clock hands ticking withershins.