My Life is Pending

~ JodiLea

Sale Pending Sign  Guess what???  People are really taking my house!

We opened escrow Friday, and here it is Monday, and our agent has not called to tell us that the buyers were “just kidding”. By Thursday I hope I can stop holding my breath.

I have postcards from 3 moving companies proclaiming “free estimates” that I want to call tomorrow. And I have important lists to make.

Redundant to-do lists like:

  • Sort through >
  • Pack    >                EVERYTHING!
  • Clean   >

I don’t know whether to start changing our mailing address, or freak out.  Escrow closes in 45-days. When is that? I want to schedule movers a few days before that, and give my notice at work 4 weeks before that.  Where the Hell did I hide the calendar? I could use the calendar app on my phone – if I knew how.

Freaking out looks more likely by the minute.

Diary of a Nicotine Addict: Dancing

~ JodiLea ~ 4 Comments

May 20th marked one year without a cigarette.  Whoopee.

I wanted to celebrate by having a couple – so my battle is not even close to being won.  Maybe battling with the Bitch is a mistake. She has proven to be the strongest and meanest one of us, many times over.

I came across this quote last week while preparing my sister’s eulogy:

Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness.  – Psalms 30:11.

I have dealt with my addiction (a.k.a. The Bitch) all wrong.

I translated the verse (into jodi-speak) in my head: Thou hast turned for me my mourning (stopped dwelling on the NOT having), into dancing (expressing and celebrating life): thou hast put off my sackcloth (kicked me off the pity pot), and girded me with gladness (surrounded me with gratitude).

Girl Wearing Boxing Glove
photo credit: kk+ via photo pin cc

I need to DANCE with the Bitch, not fight her.
Train for strength, watch the enemy, and protect myself. The Mohammad Ali kind of dancing.

Guess Again

~ JodiLea ~ 1 Comment

Just when (you think) the chaos in your life is at the maximum level, the post-office puts a bomb in your mailbox.

Mailbox

Not the exploding kind, but the kind that raises your blood pressure and makes the headache that you thought was already bad turn into a migraine. You know you’re in trouble because the return address is: “Internal Revenue Service” and it is not even near the holidays.

Sure enough, we made a mistake. A typo that our software should have noticed when it did the math. We were too excited about getting a refund for once, to realize something was off.  The official document  insisted we send them $10,000.oo. Yes, you read that number correctly. And who says the IRS has no sense of humor?

Hey! Wait a minute. There is a typo on our 2010 form and we have to pay them what we still owed. Plus interest. We were not the ones that took 2 years to find the mistake – we sent our return in on time.  Now they want the interest that the absent money could have earned. Oh, Really? I want to know where the Hell they invest their money. I would like to earn that kind of  interest myself!

I can understand about the interest. Almost.  But a fine??   Sorry, we messed up and here’s your money + interest. Now please go away.  But NO,  you’re  punishing  us. To teach us not to mess with the IRS? We don’t. Hell, they know how much money we earn – they have the damned forms.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.   Tax Form

We shall pay their bill (what choice do we have?), but not until the other chaos in our lives has settled down and we can find where we hid the damned thing….

photo credit(mailbox): Steve 2.0 via photo pin cc

photo credit (form): Josh Thompson via photo pin cc