Tomorrow morning, we close.

This evening, we do The Final Walkthrough.

This afternoon, I have to get a cashier’s check for some ludicrous sum for closing costs.

This morning, I am sitting at my desk and twitching like a gaffed fish. My hands tremble. My stomach roils. My bowels…actually, let’s just leave them out of this. Overall, I am as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Having said all that, let me add that so far, buying a house has been surprisingly painless. I think buying a car was worse, even if it took a lot less time. Now that we’re down to the wire, though, I am waiting for Stuff To Go Wrong, and I’m sweating and twitchy and the Anxiety Creature that lives under my xiphoid process is stumping around the cage of my ribs and running its little tin cup over the bars.

In specific, the toilets. For no reason I can determine, on some level I am secretly convinced we will get there and find they never installed the new toilets. This seems highly unlikely, and anyway, we would refuse to close until we got our damn toilets, but the Anxiety Creature is not susceptible to such logic. It knows there will be no toilets. And probably no carpet. And a dead deer in the driveway.*

It’ll be better soon enough, but for the moment, I’m twitchy as hell.

*Our realtor had this happen to her once. She was showing a house, drove up with the clients, and discovered that the homeowner had selected this time to begin cleaning a dead deer, in his driveway.

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