Saturday, August 13, 2011

Bunch of rambling shit

Friends have been telling me you're out there, and enjoying what I've had to write so far. But will you enjoy it when I tell you how close to the brink I am?

OK, OK. That is SO manipulative and unfair. But sometimes I just get So. Damn. Tired. of trying to play by all of the rules and still get (unpleasantly) fucked in the ass anyway.

I grew up in what's now considered The Ghetto of Seattle -- White Center. (When *I* was growing up, the ghetto was the CD ... the Central District. So see? Things DO get better!) Back to the point. I grew up poor, but was told all the time all I needed to do was get an education and I could escape. Make a better life for myself ...

And it was good, because for whatever reason, I was given the gift of intelligence. Curiosity. Creativity. And despite being the most stubborn person you would never hope to meet (till my daughter was born ... except you SO would want to meet this amazing human being), I still listened to and believed those people who said I actually would be somebody someday. And I pursued education to a perhaps obsessive degree. A master's degree in ... JOURNALISM??? WTF?

Wrap up, Christina. Wrap it up.

OK. Here I am. 40 years old. Supporting two children on my own (NOT my choice, judgmental fuckwads) as well as an unemployed-for-too-long sister who doesn't know how to say no when I ask her to do annoying things ... like wash my daughter's curtains. ALL of them. And our dad lives with us, too. He gives me what he can ... but with this mortgage, it's just not enough. My finding and scraping for whatever freelance stuff I can get also doesn't do it.

Aug. 22 is my deadline. BofA's Notice of Intent to Accelerate tells me this. I'm a month and a half behind in my payments. I have lived in and loved this house for 11 years, through a devastating breakup that contributed to this financial situation (YOU try buying out your soon-to-be ex when the real estate market is at its highest point), through losing my Dream Job ... through everything.






Try taking it away, BofA. I have a plan.

It involves my ass.

And it involves SuperGlue.

1 comment:

  1. First of all... brilliant plan!
    We found a HUD office down here we are going to start working with. We no longer answer our home phone because of the phone calls 5 times a day (not an exaggeration). I have to believe that it will get better, but with the modification period on our 2nd mortgage ending, it might be time to think about giving up. We've been fighting this fight for almost 3 years now. It's exhausting and infuriating.