Post-walkthrough

Fuckers.

Fuckers fuckers fuckers fuckers fuckers.

DOG-fuckers. PIG-fuckers. Fuckers of SYPHILLITIC dogs and pigs.



As you may have guessed, I am not a happy girl right now.



Contrary to all my plans and the assurances of just about everyone involved in this clusterfuck, I will now NOT be closing on Friday. Consequently, no alarm consultation on Saturday, no appliance delivery on Tuesday, probably no move the Saturday after.



The reason for all this is simple:



TOM SLAUGHTER (the first real name I've used in this entire blog, and I don't give a random rat's ass if it DOES show me out in the long run)--he's the seller's agent--did NOT do at least HALF of the things he agreed to do. He did NOT install metal doors to the basement and the garage. He did NOT replace the water heater. He did NOT replace the soil-pipe. He did NOT run electricity to the garage. He did NOT put a door on the cellar room with the catchbasin. He did NOTHING, almost...or rather, he failed to instruct his WORKERS--who are two very nice guys, actually, and totally not the recipients of ANY of this wrath--to do the things he agreed to do. Despite what the FHA says, this house does NOT pass MY inspection!!!



And so--no closing. And I am none too happy with MY lawyer, who apparently--even though he's allegedly DEALT with Mr. Slaughter before--did NOT put the list of agreed-upon repairs in WRITING.



Did I mention "fuckers fuckers fuckers fuckers fuckers"? I did? Oh good.



I realized on the way home--on the train, of course--that right at the moment, it's only tangentially about the house anyway. I WANT the house--I can't wait to start working on the house--but right now, today, my disappointment and anger and frustration has less to do with "I'm not getting my house on time" than "I was counting those days exactly because that's exactly how long it will be until I can sleep next to LJ again." Enforced celibacy just wrecks me; I think I understand how men feel, what makes them go to prostitutes. I am in a very, very bad state, currently. Add to this, that LJ is "not a phone guy"--not one of those men you can have hours-long conversations with over the phone--and I can honestly find only one real comparison for this sensation:



It's like being dopesick. Every last cell in my body is focussed on the one thing that can make this agitation go away; and every ounce of brain matter is devoted to trying to distract the body from its singleminded demand. And since the brain knows-- It's not gonna happen--the distraction is half-hearted at best. All there is to do is sleep or read, especially in this fucking house of horrors with no cable TV and all my large-scale projects packed up in the garage. AND my mother tried to make me watch "Ed" tonight. I'd rather eat my own puke.



So--no LJ. No decent television. No projects to work on. My best books--packed to avoid controversy. Writing--impossible, in this mental state. No paints, markers, art material, beads, embroidery thread; no car at the moment to procure any of the above. Work tomorrow. No closing Friday.



I am not, not, not a happy woman. If I could just go spend a few hours with LJ--even if the situation at HIS place still stands, even if we STILL couldn't go up to his room and fuck around, at least we could TALK for a while. At least I wouldn't have to sit here and fight all this unfucked insecurity, all these totally incorrect convictions that come upon me when nobody's touched me for weeks. I HATE this situation, and to then find out today that it's going to extend beyond the point at which I had absolutely refused to endure another minute of it...



I know, I know--everything happens for a reason. But I'm getting tired of reason, you know? Just once I'd like things to go RIGHT by MY standards, not the universe's. I've got my doubts about the universe's standards anyway--how, for example, can you trust a world which would claim to have a REASON for killing JP? And then leaving me with CR for all that time? come ON now.



I would dearly love to be able to put aside this frustration and anger and write something meaningful, something that fulfills the original goal of this blog. But I'm too pissed and scared and horny to make much sense, so instead I'm going to sleep.