…that just happened.
I posted earlier this week about my townhouse that was finally under contract for sale — after more than two years. I joked that I would jinx it by airing this all out there on the world-wide web. And the very next day I got word that my buyer’s buyer had fallen through — and my home was contingent upon the sale of hers. They were set to close in just one week and everything seemed rosy. And it still fell apart.
Fortunately, she still desperately wants my home — so we’re pushing the closing date back (way back) to this fall, in hopes that she can find another buyer in the meantime.
I was clinically depressed about it Wednesday. Didn’t want to lift my head from my desk, which is where it immediately fell to when I read my realtor’s email.
But by yesterday I had decided that I can’t control this situation any more than I already am, and I certainly can’t let it control me. All I can do is keep on truckin’. And of course whining to you people. Like my sweet and very mature brother said, “If she doesn’t buy your house, it just means God has a different plan.”
Although, this blonde blogging friend did offer to buy it via a Tweet. Are Tweets considered a binding contract?
Continued good house-selling vibes and prayers welcome.