It is an uncertain time, but we're pretty confident we'll get there in the end. (I'm trying to think positive) The owner is still mulling over his options and is expected to tell the agent what's what tomorrow.
Or maybe, never. This just seems like the most infinite process in my life. Perhaps I'll still be here when I'm 68, going back and forth and back and forth in these negotiations, dragging myself into the office with increasing resentment and dreaming of a life outside the city limits.
We've been talking so much about what we'll do once we get there. Pulling dinner from the dam that's stocked with barramundi and red claw to cook on the fire. Getting the veggie patch happening, fixing up the old hut to make it my home office.
Meanwhile, the first open home at our place in Brisbane is this Saturday and we've been in overdrive preparing. The photographer was here today taking photos for the listing. If there's anything more ridiculously futile than trying to clean a house occupied by a toddler, then I'd like to hear about it.
Actually - I really, really wouldn't.
Fingers crossed we hear some good news tomorrow about this whole proposition. Even if it means a few months of homelessness over Christmas ( the owner wants a three month settlement now, if he even wants to sell at all), it'll mean we're on our way.
My fingers are more crossed than they've ever been.