Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

No, that’s not kinky, at least not sensu stricto.

Loose end #1: ( Technical sex toy talk under here. )

Loose end #2: I had another window-cleaning crew come to the Devil Girl House and see if they could get the paint off those upper windows that the other crew couldn't reach. Nope, they said. I guess that's that, unless I can find a crew that can rappel off the roof, which isn't even flat. No way in hell am I attempting it myself; those windows are about 30' (not quite 10m) off the ground.

Loose end #3: My black leather hat with the chin strap went missing during the move. Either that or I got rid of it in a moving frenzy, but I don't remember that. It isn't in any of the boxes I haven't unpacked. I've ordered a replacement that's more suitable for summer use anyway.

Loose end #4: Early this week I noticed suspicious credit card charges marked as pending. They posted, so I disputed them last night. The most annoying part of this is that the credit card number is now burned: no ordering on credit for a few days, and as soon as I have a new number I need to plug it into my ORCA and Good To Go passes – mass transit and highway tolls, respectively.

But first, last night was honest-to-goodness karaoke with La Fashionista, her ex R, and his friend M. I will attempt "Wuthering Heights" if you get enough cheap sake in me. More peeps would have been nice, but I had a good time. Thence to the Merc for a bit, followed by a train & bus home.

Last night was a nice break from freaking out about finances. I wouldn't be so worried about the mortgage payment if it weren't for one important fact: when I stopped paying alimony, I didn't really stop paying alimony completely. Ex said she needs help defraying our son's expenses. The Wendling spends five nights out of seven with his mother.

"But Sista Wendy", you say, "Your son is nearly 25. Why isn't he living on his own or in school or... something?" Because, dear reader, his ADHD, autism, and anxiety – I collectively call them the brain squirrels – make school and general executive function well nigh impossible for him. He can't even face the reality of his situation, which makes it that much worse. He's just barely working full time in a supermarket. He'll have enough seniority to get more hours late next year, but that doesn't help us right now.

I talked with Good Sister the CPA. She pointed out, unnecessarily, that I'm legally (but not morally) in a position to dictate to Ex just how much cash I'm going to give her. That's not how I roll, though.

I called Ex and delivered the bad news. It wasn't a fraught call; I didn't expect it to be. But I may have detected some irritation on her part at the price of my house. I refuse to feel guilty about it, though. If my son effectively gets the use of my car for the price of gas, I need to live someplace that's actually urban.

But what I do feel guilty about is that Ex says that even with her work picking up lately, she's had to dip into savings a few times in recent months. I guess I can go out less and spend less per month on beauty. Heaven knows I don't need more clothes or shoes. But I can no longer afford the considerable luxury of not tracking what I spend.

Goddess help me, I resent my ex a little and my son more. Well, not hugely, and it's certainly not a new phenomenon, but yeah, I'm wishing he were someone else right now.

So what's next? Ex is going to talk to the Wendling over the next few days, in short bursts because he'll nope right out if you try anything more. Anxiety, remember? I do have an ADU* in the new place. My capacity to take the heat off Ex without going bananas myself is considerable now, limited only by my son's (probably non-existent) willingness to commute or transfer to a different store and perhaps spend time with his M.



*Auxiliary dwelling unit.

Mom is safely in the rehab facility. It took until after 1900 Eastern because they wouldn't transport her without a negative COVID test. What makes that interesting is that Mom starts sundowning around 1400 Eastern. I'd long ago noticed that the best time to call Mom was before 1100 Pacific. Good Sister was with our ornery mother and without dinner until she was done filling out the paperwork at the new place.

What's next? Well, Mom learns how to sit, stand, walk, and turn again. GS says she's made rapid progress already, so we really don't know where she'll be by the time I get there. Evil Sister is supposed to arrive late tonight right about now.

Do you ever worry that your mortgage lender is tired of hearing from you? I do. But I have just finished my mortgage application now that I, you know, have a down payment and have the PDFs to prove it. Murphy's Law dictates that I'll be approved while I'm out of town. Far worse things could happen, though.

This morning I applied for a loan against my 401(k) now that I've done the dance to prevent paper checks. Once that comes through, in 3-5 business days, I can finish my mortgage application. That's when I borrow the truly scary amount of money.

Ex expressed the worry that I might take too big a dent out of my retirement savings. I informed her that the IRS has limited me to what amounts to 2.5% of what I have. Hakuna matata. Besides, I can have enough cash on hand to pay the loan back by the end of the summer, easily.

Murphy's Law dictates that I may be in Florida with my mother when I'm finally ready to start house-hunting. I've told my lender and real estate agent.

Will I be able to travel for fun and/or throw some work to Dr. Faceknife this year? We shall see. I don't dare let myself get too hopeful.

I'm having trouble thinking of anything to write here. After getting back from Comfy Lady's on Saturday morning I slept. And then I spent the rest of a sunny Valentine's weekend sleeping some more.

But am I sleeping well at night? Of course not. I've been waking up in the wee hours. At least I fall back asleep, but it usually takes an hour or two. I blame February: every year since (not long after?) I moved up here, the noticeably lengthening days have robbed me of a normal sleep schedule.

Oh, there is one thing I remembered to write about, namely the scramble for a down payment. I have two 401(k) plans, one with a big pile o' money in it from a previous employer, plan A; and a much smaller one with my current employer, plan B. Murphy's Law dictates that only plan B allows me to take out loans against it*, possibly because I can no longer actively contribute to plan A.

I can roll plan A into plan B, but guess which one has the stellar annual returns? Plan A, of course. Now that I sit here typing, I wonder if I can do a partial rollover. I bet I can't.

Oh by the way, quite a bit of money, enough for a down payment, is supposedly in transit into plan B. There was a plan C that got closed out due to acquisition, and I'm still waiting on the transfer from C to B. When that happens, I should be golden for a down payment.



*I can execute a partial withdrawal from plan A, but that incurs a tax penalty.

After six years, one month, and a total of $292,000, I have finished paying alimony, or as Washington state law calls it, maintenance.

How do I feel about being square with my Ex? Mainly, I don't. Might Ex have milked my guilt? Sure, but that has just ended. I've got other concerns, which you have read about or will read about right here.

What am I going to do with all that cash that I'm not sending to Ex anymore? Buy a place to live, mainly. At least, that's the hope. Seattle's housing market could be charitably described as overheated.

I really love my neighborhood, but there's no way in hell I'm going to afford a detached house near where I live without my mother's death handing me a down payment*. Luckily, I'm not attached to detached. But I'm leery of the homeowners' associations in condo buildings: they seem to be full of busybodies and people trying to avoid paying for necessary long-term maintenance, or so I keep hearing from condo residents. My stylist recommended town houses; he lives in one. I'd be OK with that.

Might I travel more or engage in more circumflatulation? Wayell, maybe. Watch this space.



*That's certainly possible, but I shouldn't count on it.

I called the IRS over lunch to ask them where the hell my $11K is. While I was on hold for ten or fifteen minutes – not bad, considering – one of the automated messages told me that there's a site for checking the status of amended returns, i.e. the 1040X that I filed back in March.

Cell phone in one hand an typing Dvorak with the other, I logged in. Sure enough, they got my 1040X on March 2. Processing time: sixteen (16) weeks.

And then a human came on and told me pretty much the exact same thing. Le sigh. So, I probably will get my dough, but not until the end of next month. That's too late for the transaction, if the courts allow it, for Mom's house, but luckily Good Sister says we don't need it. I guess I can save it for a (real) vacation later this year and the (re-)start of a down payment fund.

As of this week, I have only one year left of alimony payments. I've been paying $4K per month for a little over five years now.

I have two gigantic expenses coming up, and for those the end of alimony can't come soon enough:

1. Buying my mother's house back from the reverse mortgage holders. Mind you, they haven't agreed to any deal yet, but for Mom's potential long term care expenses this is looking like our only option. Good Sister says that trying to get satisfaction from long term care insurance is about to drive her to a therapist for anger management.
2. Buying a place to live instead of pouring money down the rat hole that is rent. Good Sister the CPA is quietly adamant that I need to do this, but she didn't need to tell me.

Yes, I've shopped too much during the pandemic. But either of the above dwarfs the total of what I've spent by at least an order of magnitude.

I just got off the phone with my credit union, telling them that all five online transactions on my debit card were fraudulent. Ah well, gotta burn that credit card number and get a new one. The fraud folks told me to call member services to get a new card, which I'll do right after I stop typing.

After this and the catalytic converter theft from earlier this month, I'm really hoping this sort of thing doesn't come in threes. It's a PITA, but not a major disaster.

As it turns out, Progressive never did declare my Sanctimobile "insurance destroyed" because I had neither comprehensive nor collision coverage on that car. Given its mileage — about 110K — and how banged up it was, that sounds exactly like something I would have done. (I don't have the old insurance docs online, and I just put my paper file away.)

So I paid the damn towing bill. Ex told me to negotiate, but I wasn't willing to risk any damage to my credit rating; I'd like to buy housing someday. Besides, I have the money to Make This Go Away. I hope that's the end of it. I've kept the receipt, natch.