"I hate packing."

We're still slated to close on Friday. Our realtor has told us twice that the repairs have been done to the Bird House so we've gone to the house to check the repairs only to see that they haven't been done. Being that our realtor has always seemed to have her shit together and the homeowner's realtor has been a bit of a scatter brain, I blame the seller's realtor for our wasted trips to the house.

P.B. is doubtful about closing on Friday because the title company we're working with apparently only has two people in their office and one of them has been at an open house of some sort all day and is the only one that can handle our paperwork. This wouldn't be so much of a concern if the seller hadn't already moved out of state. Because of this the paperwork has to be overnighted to her to sign and then she's supposed to overnight it back to the title company. But. The. Paperwork. Is. Just. Sitting. There.

Bank of America has been nothing but a pain in the ass. They have several people "handling" our file. No one communicates with anyone else. No one returns phone calls. Their loan progress tracker on their web site is the ultimate piece of shit and is never updated. It's absofuckinglutely ridiculous. Maybe next time P.B. will listen to me when I tell him that BoA is shitty to work with.

The property management company that we're renting the Orchard House from is bringing someone by on Thursday to look at the house. Hopefully they will want to rent it and we'll be off the hook for the early termination fees. *fingers crossed*

I've been packing. I hate packing.

After going through all of the rooms and picking out what we wouldn't need for the next couple of weeks and mentally organizing our belongings I gently packed up all of our good dishes, all the breakable glass, odds and ends...

Have I mentioned that I hate packing? Well, I do.

I've gotten to the point where I just want to start throwing things in boxes and be done. I hate packing.

Hate.