The last time I wrote, I was about to host my fourth homebuying class. Bubbey was all worried about no one showing up, but given that at least SOMEone had turned up at all of the last three times, I thought it was a an unlikely concern. Boy was I wrong. That day, the weather ended up being awful: cold, windy, rainy. I had invited a guest speaker too– a tax preparer who had created slides and everything for her talk. I had 7 people registered, and even now, days later, I CANNOT believe zero people came. It was awful. I mean, yes, I had already done my PowerPoint from before, but I dunno, there was the set up, the lugging of snacks and drinks, the handouts, the folders, I had prepped a new tax info sheet… all for nought. And then I felt so embarrassed for my loan officer and the guest speaker who had spent their time to do this with me.

When I texted him that no one came, Bubbey texted back a picture of Bentley. And he wrote “we love you and we believe in you.” And then my eyes started welling up… I mean, after seven long months (since my last close) and hustling most of the time along the way, how long is my family going to stay here just to battle it out, to fulfill my desire for “success”? John’s sick of the Bay Area, it’s bloody expensive, we don’t take advantage of half the amenities of being in Norcal… what is this all for? The tears stayed in, and somehow I managed not to cry in front of my loan officer. The tax preparer jetted as soon as it was 10 minutes past. But after I got home, I really felt like, “What’s the fucking point.” Just cash out on the house and move on already. Yet another failed career. Chock it up.

I mean, maybe all of this sounds overly dramatic, but damn, I felt like shit. I thought I was getting closer with the increased activity and the traction from the Iranian agent, but two months in, it wasn’t going anywhere. All action, no progress. The negativity was hitting an all-time high.