While at work, Madeline from the Realty Office called to see if someone could see the house at noon. No go. I was in my office in New Haven, Ken at a work call in New York. After a little back and forth, rescheduled for 10 am tomorrow, before Ken leaves for "Book of Mormon" rehearsal. (Note: I think that I am entering my own "Scary Mormon Hell," sans Johnny Cochran and Adolph Hitler and no dancing skeletons so far.).
Then, John our realtor, got on the phone and told me that he thought that the couple to whom he planned to show the house this evening would make an offer.
It seems too fast, a lockstep march to ....what?
Fortunately, not a day of crises and imminent need at the Clinic. That is, if you don't count meeting with the Director and my client who may be administratively discharged for getting into a verbal altercation with another of my clients in the parking lot because the girlfriend of the former and she, the latter, had been in jail together and one or the other ratted on one or the other. Oh, and then my client asking me not to be mad at him because although he is working and doing well, he still deals and that's why his urine screen in positive because the dope gets into his pores. And the client on 120 mg of methadone and 6 mg daily of xanax can't understand why her mother is taking her into court to get custody of her disabled daughter; but why can't she get more take home bottles of methadone anyway.
And, honestly, these are the easy ones.
So, I had some time to frantically search the NY Times Real Estate section, StreetEasy.com and even Craigslist to figure out what we could afford, and where and why. Dogs need a park and maybe a balcony or terrace. Ken needs to get to Times Square. We want at least two bedrooms and, oh please,
maybe a bath and a half.
Brooklyn has more engaging architecture and bang for the buck; but is unknown territory except for Bushwick which lacks green and seems teeming with 20's and 30's although I've seen evidence of diversity. And my remaining NYC friends are mostly on the upper West Side. Pre War apartments, Woody Allen without the cinematographers.
No resolution but raced to Marshall's for some candles... evening showing, scent and color. And one
anti aging creme for 10 bucks, too.
Walked dogs, decluttered (again) and then John texted that "buyers" were going to reschedule. OK. Texted again, maybe at 7:30. OK, but not much later, please. John texted again...another reschedule.
Whoosh.
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| Cafe Orwell, Bushwick |
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