Fiasco

I have been complaining a lot lately to anyone who'll listen.  This is because I have lost an entire year of my life (and a hell of a lot of money) to the settling of my father's estate and the attempt to sell his house.  My hair is falling out from stress, I can't sleep, and I have no heart to play the piano (though I force myself to practice)  I can't handle much of anything beyond getting through the day.

Now, just as it seemed that the buyers were finally getting their shit together, the whole thing falls apart: we find out that they can't get financing. The deal is off, and we are starting from scratch, having lowered the price yet again.  So I am complaining.  It would be better if I tried to lose myself in writing Mentalist fanfiction--I have to rewrite my story based on last Sunday's season premiere.  It's after 1 am and I don't want to go to work tomorrow. I need every dollar I am capable of earning, so I can't take a personal day.

This is not the worst catastrophe in the world--it happens to many homeowners.  But the agony is being extended, with no end in sight.  My childhood home is empty, just the shell of a home, and every time I think about it I get unbearably sad.  Every day I try to distract, distract, distract.  It works up to a point, but the fear of ending up with no retirement money never goes away.

One small ray of light is that I received a royalty check for $411 from Berklee Press.

My book is selling!

Too bad it won't ever reach best-seller proportions...