The one in which I put my head down and cry

Although it might be hard to tell over the internets, I have actually done a good job (for me) of keeping the stress over the whole house selling situation in check. I have (sort of) cheerily gone about my business tossing off lines such as “Nothing to be done” or “it will all be fine” to those dumb enough to ask how things are going. Our real estate agent has commented several times over how unstressed I have been.

Ever since we actually purchased the new house, however, my facade has been cracking bit by bit. My voice has starting hitting the upper registers when talking with the real estate agent. I have started crying at the drop of a hat; the poor man at the deli counter yesterday spent 20 minutes searching the back cooler for low-salt turkey breast after I burst into tears when he told me he only had honey roasted. I have started obsessing about minor and not so minor things, like the peeling paint on the kitchen ceiling or the water that seems to be leaking into the basement.

Did you catch that? Yes, water. In my basement. A week after the last rainstorm. Which leads to the unfortunate conclusion that the continued presence of water seeping in through the foundation is caused by some other source, namely a burst pipe of some sort. A buried burst pipe. Somewhere in my front yard. I spent most of the night sitting on the steps of my basement willing the water to go away. Unfortunately, it appears that a watched basement still leaks.

As soon as it got light this morning, I joined the cat on his morning prowl to see if I could somehow disprove my theory. Instead, I quickly discovered that the mulch in the front flower bed that we just recently had relandscaped was sopping wet. So I sat on the front stoop and stared at that, willing it to dry up. Again, no such luck. When M came downstairs to get ready for work, he found me pacing and muttering, clutching my suddenly queasy stomach.

He seemed much less concerned than I about this turn of events, but then again his father is going into the hospital today for another heart procedure, so a leaky basement is probably not all that high on his list of things to worry about. He did inspect the basement and front bed, nodded his head and said “Yep, looks like a problem. We’ll call someone to come take a look. There are much worse problems we could have. Don’t stress over it. ” Which is easier said than done for those of us who obsess over such things.

So as C whines about his hanker sore, and A races around setting up an early morning tea party, and M heads off to work and then the hospital to be with his dad, I continue to clutch my stomach and will the water away. And hope that someone, anyone, will come look at my house and buy it, unidentified leak and all. Excuse me while I go put my head down and cry.

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