On today's agenda: only screaming

The house buying nightmares continue.

I have my financial ducks almost in a row. Almost. And now, the ducks are scattering again.

I spoke to my mortgage/credit union guy (Wafik) on Thursday. He was very understanding while I panicked at him, and he promised that if I could get all the money transferred to my new checking account by Monday, he would personally oversee getting the transfer expedited/waiving the usual hold on funds, and ensure I get the bank draft I need to give the lawyer on Monday.

So I moved heaven and earth to get everything done, and I did. I got the last of the money transferred on Friday evening, and received the usual warnings about the time it could take to get it all done. In light of this, I decided to send Wafik an email today (originally I was going to wait until tomorrow but then I worried I'd forget or send it too late or something) as a follow-up about our conversation and to confirm that all was well. And that's how I discovered he has an out of office message saying he'll be back on Wednesday.

Notice how Wednesday is not Monday? Yeah, me too.

So I have been quietly having a panic attack at my desk all morning. I am not prone to panic attacks, but I am pretty sure the chest pain and palpitations are exactly that, because there's no other good reason for it (and it started the minute I got the out of office message, so it's not a coincidence). I am accustomed to a constant low-level buzz of anxiety, but it doesn't usually manifest in this kind of physical symptoms. I cannot say I am enjoying the experience.

There is absolutely fuck-all I can do about this situation today, because it is Sunday, and nothing is open. My deadline is tomorrow, and if Wafik is not in the office to do the thing he promised he'd do, then I am fucked six ways to next Sunday. So the only thing I can do for the next 19 hours or so is panic quietly. Tomorrow I plan to call him first thing in the morning, and if he doesn't pick up his phone, my backup plan is to call my original mortgage advisor (I don't think that's her actual title, but I don't know it so this will suffice) Peggy and very politely weep at her until she finds someone local to help me. See, Peggy, unlike Wafik, is NOT local, but lives somewhere around Barrie, ON, so it means that even if she wanted to help me, she cannot physically place a bank draft in my hands.

*rips out hair*

*internal screaming*

I honestly thought that the financial part of the nightmare was over and that I just had to deal with the sellers' shenanigans, for which my lawyer has a plan. But now the person who committed to helping me has just swanned off without even the courtesy of letting me know, so fuck me, I guess. I have already spent so much money on this move on packing supplies and on the packing help, the house is halfway packed up, and I have abandoned my plot in the community garden so that if we don't move, I can't grow vegetables this summer and all the plants I ordered are going to die. Not to mention the crushing disappointment of losing out on a dream property literally five days before we're meant to move in.

FUCK.