Grump Central Archive: Week of 25 February 2018

Saturday, 3 March. Well, everything went pretty much as I predicted—if I was a betting man, I wouldn't need to sell the property. My lawyer finally got in touch with their lawyer (who claims to have been sick), he responded with one email offering a little more than what I've been getting (or one-tenth of what I need right now), my lawyer asked for clarification, and then... radio silence. The frustration is so indescribably bad that I shake uncontrollably—it's enough to make me want to cause bodily harm to certain individuals. Meanwhile, I'm looking at about an inch of slushy snow and sleet, plus a whole lot of broken tree branches. Poor little Bobby was so terrified, I saw him for maybe 30 seconds the whole day. I don't blame him—every few minutes the cabin rattled as another chunk of tree dropped on the roof. No damage, except to my nerves.

Friday, 2 March. Today will be one of the scariest days I can recall. Another threat of being fired got my lawyer's attention, and he promptly drafted a communication for the buyer: respond to this message by EOB today, or the contract is cancelled. I was advised this could give rise to a lawsuit against me; I responded that I'd countersue. Meanwhile, a nor'easter with the potential to become a "bomb cyclone" is bearing down on the state, with the power to fell trees and generally wreak havoc.

Thursday, 1 March. Oh, great. A major nor'easter is headed our way. Heavy rain, strong wind. Just what my half-finished house doesn't need.

Wednesday, 28 February. It's about to be March already. I'm having a hard time processing all of this: the rollercoaster ride to hell is accelerating...

Tuesday, 27 February. More than halfway through winter already. I sometimes wonder why I get so anxious about things when time just races by; last November was like the day before yesterday.

Monday, 26 February. And so begins another week of... what? More of the same? This is no way to live.

Sunday, 25 February. As I prepare myself for the emotional challenge of a funeral today—in the pouring rain, no less—I briefly take stock in my own life. If judged solely by the last few years, I find virtually no joy, accomplishment or meaning in it. It's as if I've already died.

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