Okay, so I kind of blasted everyone a few days ago with my foreclosure post. I got so many people either calling me or emailing me with encouragement, and that was priceless! Seriously, thank you so much for taking the time to do that. But I also had almost every single person ask me if they were the ones who had made comments like the ones about which I wrote. And I just wanted to make a formal statement. I don't think I was talking to you. (There, doesn't that assuage you guilt?) I wasn't trying to squeeze confessions out of you or make you come and beg forgiveness (not that any of you did) (Jerks) (Just kidding), but I wanted to vent to you and to say that I am tired of the commercials and in general the announcements that are being crammed down our throats saying that the banks don't want you to foreclose, that they will do anything to keep you in your house, blah blah blah. For us, that was so far from the truth, it's not even funny. And I got a comment from Mama V saying that she and her husband are going through a similar time with the bank. Wake up, News! Wake up, Banks! Telling someone to default on their payments when they are trying to be proactive and deal with a problem before it crushes them is NOT working with them at all cost. It is NOT working with "anyone", and it really is not helpful. Once you are in default, it is seemingly impossible to get out. Once we went there, we had to pay back the extra that we had missed along with our regular payment. Oh, you can't pay your regular mortgage? Okay, here, we've given you a payment that's $500
higher every month. Aren't we nice? Oh, you can't pay that? And it's been 5 months since you've made a mortgage payment? Well, we'll give you a trial period that is $200 less than what you should have been paying all along. What? You can't afford that? (Duh. You have our entire financial history, bank accounts, pay stubs, tax forms, utilities bills, affidavits of grocery and gas bills... Look at that and tell me if I can afford your trial period.) (I'm not bitter, though.) (Not really) Well, then--and here it comes--the line we heard so many times it makes me want to gouge my eyes out and throw them all the way to Texas to hit the person I'm talking to in the face--"I'm sorry, ma'am, but if you won't make your payments in the trial period, there's nothing we can do."
You're saying there's nothing you can do?
That's right, ma'am. Nothing.
What about what I hear on the news? About you working with anyone, renegotiating with anyone?
Did you make your payments in the trial period?
No, I couldn't afford them. You have all of my financial paperwork. You can clearly see that I couldn't afford them.
Well, it doesn't matter if you can afford them or not. If you don't make your payments during the trial period, there. is. nothing. we. can. do. (Pause) Will there be anything else I can help you with today?
No, really, you've been too helpful already. Thank you so much.
Now, you may wonder why I am bringing all of this up again. Am I still that ticked? Do I need another round of e-hugs to feel better? (Well, actually, that's not a bad idea.)
But seriously, it came up again because I called the mortgage company again today, and once it's ruined my day, I feel like I should share the love and ruin yours too.
We found out a couple of weeks ago that we still own our house, that it didn't go to auction as they assured us it would back in June. So we have been tossing around ideas on whether we should try to save it again (now that Pete has a different job), or whether we should really, really let it go. When I talked to them today (after 42 minutes on hold and three tries to get more than a person who said "That's not my department. Can I put you on hold again?" Uh, no.) (The 42 minutes was not an exaggeration, by the way. I know a lot of times I exaggerate, and it's hard to tell the difference), the lady I spoke with said that they had apparently put the process on hold because of a letter I sent them in July. Did I send them a letter, she asked? I was pretty sure I had, I answered (and a quick check of My Documents proved that assumption correct). Apparently, they decided to try and work with me, she said. What did she mean, work with me, I asked. Did they call me?
Um, not that I show.
Did they contact me by mail?
Um, not that I show.
I'm unclear as to how they were working with me, then. Did they send a carrier pigeon to my old house? Because I moved out of that house when they told me too. What exactly did they do to let me know that they had received my letter and decided to extend me more of a grace period?
Um, I don't really show anyth--you know what? I don't have that information. Do you want me to transfer you to the department that might have that information?
Is it the same department I left a message for 3 weeks ago and haven't heard back from?
Yep, that'd be the one.
Uh, no. Thanks for the effort, but I'm fine here. Really. It was just a house. What do I care? It's just $183,000 going on my credit. No big deal. Really. No big deal.
I know what you're thinking. (Not really) (Well, maybe.) (Muwah-ah-ah-ah.) You're thinking that I sound really depressed all the time lately, and that I've lost my sense of fun and adventure, and seriously, can't we skip all the crazy ranting posts and just go back to the ones about poop?! (Poop is always a crowd-pleaser.)
Here's my answer to that: This is my blog. I like to write about what is going on in my life. I like to let you in on what I'm thinking about. (Unless it's how many times a day I think about Pete's hotness. I like to censor that a little bit.) And I definitely believe that I need to trust God in the middle of my circumstances, and I definitely try my hardest to let it go. But one of my biggest ways of letting things go has always been writing about them. So there you have it. I write about them, complain about them, then get up from the computer knowing that now other people can share my burdens a little better because they've seen inside my head for a minute (yikes! scary place, I know!), and then I go make dinner and deal with a whole bunch more poop and don't worry about my house anymore. That day.
Okay, that minute.
Fine, Second.
Oh well, it all works out in the end. Anyway, I'm not crazy depressed, and I don't need the name of your shrink, I just need to be able to live through what I'm living through. And this is how I do it. I love you all for being my devoted readers and hope that you won't feel compelled to send me your leftover, half-chewed anti-depressants or half-drunk bottles of happy juice (i.e., Dr. Pepper) (wait, why would you ever send me those things??); just read my blog and comment and send me more e-hugs than you otherwise would while we're going through this time. We'll get through it. We know that. It's just that the only way through it is through it. And that's the frustrating part.
Now...(!)...off to more poop!
