Meanwhile, Mrs. Gneech and I go and look at prospective rental places, put in applications, get asked for clarification, send clarification, don't hear for days, and finally get turned down, because we're in the middle of a short sale and our credit score is all out of whack.
As you might guess, we're pretty fed up with all of this. :P For the past two? Three? Years we've been living with this, half our stuff in boxes, disposing of what we can, trying to get things done without ever feeling "comfortable at home." For the past several weeks we've been doing all that turned up to 11, with 85-90% of our possessions packed up in boxes and stacked all around us, the cats fretting and getting sick because of the disrupted routine, basically being Schrödinger's homeowners. Do we or don't we? We have no idea, because we can't get the goddamn box lid to open!
Blugh. I'm still not convinced that my favorite plan, "Load the cats into the car, set the house on fire, and drive west until we find ocean," isn't the best course of action. But I can't get Laurie to sign off on that one, so we'll keep on half-living it here, I guess. :P