Crazymaking

I haven’t really heard from my real estate agent in a week. The rumor is that she’s on vacation, but who’d really know for sure? She certainly didn’t tell me anything about it. Much less what’s due when or how much. It’s simply maddening.

Um, not to say that I’m mad per se, just anxious (isn’t that your normal state? – ed Well sure, but I thought that paying three percent bought me a little piece of mind. That seems not to be the case. – bob).

This frustrating bit is compounded by the phone call I got from the home inspector on Saturday morning: “I’ll call you later in the afternoon to let you know when I’ll fax the documents…”

It’s freakin’ Monday night! Three afternoons later! Hello!

My brother offered some insight though: “It’s pretty laid back up there. Those folks aren’t in a real hurry to get much of anything done.” “More than San Diego?” I asked. “Oh hell yeah, think about it; pines, fresh air, burbling creek, five dollar twelve-packs of Natural Light at the Village Market… Is it any wonder they haven’t called you back yet?”

I suppose not.

Your pal,

bob