My mortgage lender did all the paperwork this morning to get the loan. He called me about half an hour ago and asked me “Are you a terrorist?” Apparently while they were pulling all the information, two Social Security numbers came up under my name. One was mine, and the other was my ex-husband’s. It’s not a big deal. I ended up having to fill out yet another piece of paper that says “This SSN is mine and yes you can contact the Social Security Administration to confirm it.” I was a little annoyed, though. I was with our ex for nine years and married to him for six of those years, and I’ve been divorced for over TWELVE years now, and still his name comes up. Fucker. I hate having to think about him.
Anyway, other than that, things are pretty peachy. My sister and nephew came over yesterday afternoon and helped me to take apart my bedframe so I could give it away on Freecycle. It’s already gone. I had a taker right away and he showed up at lunchtime to take away the bedframe, the dresser (with its broken but fixable drawer), and one of the queen futon mattresses. I have a ton more space in my bedroom now. I’m sure it’ll shortly be filled with boxes.
My apartment is a disaster area. It’s horrible. Everything has just sort of exploded outwards and I feel inundated with possessions. It’ll all come together, I know, and when we’re in the new place there’ll be room to spread out and have it not be so crowded and it will be nice. But right now I’m miserable and out of sorts because one of our big coping mechanisms is having a routine and that routine is shot to shit.
It’ll be ok, though. It’s not like we haven’t moved a multitude of times before and even changed states more than once and it’s always been ok. And this move will be the last one for a really long time, because it’s to a place we own. You can’t get much more stable than that!