July 8, 2011
Deadbeat Diary, 4
It’s a slow day on the internet and I guess that means it’s about damn time I write this (previously on Clusterflock).
I’ve actually been trying to write this for a few weeks now but can’t quite capture exactly how it feels. Cheap metaphors didn’t really work and a factual description fell short of what I want to convey. I tried making the investor into a villain…and the realtor and the government and the bank and myself and the builder and…
The truth is I don’t know how to write about what came next.
Our first offer was in. It was made clear to us that our only option was to accept the offer and wait. We were told not to wait for more and at the same time that the bank would probably decline such a low offer. It was about getting in the system. It was about making our intentions clear.
At this point we were still current on our mortgage. Alicia was still working. And getting in the system seemed important. How long could it take for them to decline our offer?
We waited.
The bank requested bank statements, tax returns, paystubs, a hardship letter…
We waited.
Levi was born.
We waited.
Sometime in late November the Realtor told us the investor wanted some concessions. They wanted us to sign a promissory note and bring cash to closing.
No thanks, we said.
The bank would not approve the offer.
It was time to start over.
I realized later the investor had no incentive to sell. As long as we continued making our payment, the investor continued getting a monthly check. Our mistake, perhaps, was trying to do it right – trying to anticipate the moment we wouldn’t be able to afford our payment and take action before it came to that.
We missed our first payment in November.
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Oh, Michael. Sometimes life is all wrong. Sometimes good people have no good way out. Sometimes we have to take a deep breath and do something we worry we will regret for the rest of our lives, because we see no choice.
Thank you for writing about this. I hate that you’ve had to go through it.
Michael, like Cindy, it saddens me that you and Alicia suffered this.
I was well into middle age (44, I think) before I bought my first property — and I believe I was probably 39 or so before I even entered into my first (unsuccessful) real estate negotiations.
There are few things on this earth I dislike so intensely.
The realization that the relationship between buyer and seller is adversarial, or so it has always felt to me — that ain’t nice.
A really good real estate attorney, I learned, will try and see that both parties are happy and can arrive at an informed compromise in which both get something approaching what they want. And I advise friends looking either to buy or sell property to hire themselves the best real estate attorney they can afford.
But that easy advice does not help you and Alicia any.
And in truth, I don’t think I ever want to own real estate again. Ever.
Michael, Danny and I have passed through the same woods. I don’t have the energy to say more just now. Just know you’ve been seen and heard. My heart to you.
I’m sorry Michael.
Michael, I could talk.
You know, I kick Michael in the jimmy every time I see an opening. And I’ll keep doing that. But just this once, I want to say that I love Michael Smith.
It ain’t all bad. Alicia gets to stay home with the kids and I get to ride my bike to work.
The whole experience has been strange.
I will buy Izzy something nice when I sell my first screenplay, Michael. Like a small mutual fund or something.
I don’t know enough about owning stuff to understand what any of this means, but it doesn’t sound pleasant. I’m sorry, Michael; you and your family should have pleasantness.