What, me worry? While I stared at my email inbox for hours, hitting the refresh button compulsively? You bet I was worrying. Every single time I wait for a buyer to read over an offer, time slows to a crawl, and every single thing that could possibly interfere with my success runs through my mind. I sent the offer over for approval from my buyer right at lunchtime, and I waited. I waited for-freaking-ever. I called him a few times, getting only the answering machines. In my head, he was in a car wreck or the victim of a home invasion or suffering from a sudden onset of a debilitating illness. He hated the contract, or he decided he didn't want to work with me after all. My confidence vanished with my good sense, and both of them ran away to Florida for a theme park vacation. But thankfully, none of those things were true. In the late afternoon, I heard from my buyer, and he promised he would sign the offer so I could send it over, which I did before dinner. The sellers' agent confirmed that she got it, and sent it to her sellers soon after. Now I get to wait.
Tomorrow is going to be a mess. I have to be in Boulder by 7 in the morning, which let's be honest, is not a good time of day for me. But I promised, so to the melee I will go. I am supposed to be in Greeley by 1 pm, so whether the nightmare that is my morning will be over by noon or not, I am leaving. And somewhere along the way, either to Greeley or on the way back home, I will probably get an answer on the offer I submitted. If the house I show in Greeley is a winner, I could be tasked to write yet another offer, but I'd hope that I could make it all the way to Monday to submit. After all, what realtor is going to want to work on Superbowl Sunday? Even if I did, my money says no one would answer my calls. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First I have to show the house to my buyers who have very particular needs. Where it goes from there is still up in the air.
I gave up on an idea I'd been kicking around for a few weeks. I am spending more money and time than I want going to the pet store to buy crickets every eight to ten days. I thought I'd just buy some specific containers and breed crickets on my own. I read up on it today, and while it didn't sound like fun, it sounded possible, if I could find the right stuff. I looked at cricket keepers in the store today, clear plastic boxes with lids and tubes, and vague instructions on the labels. But I know that crickets need to be kept warm, and even the most gentle of pad warmers have the potential to melt a plastic box. The young man at the pet store was pretty pessimistic about the life span of crickets. He said they get shipments once a week, I assume because the bins of bugs can't ventilate well enough to keep the gases released by the poo and dead bodies from wiping out the crop. Plus, to breed the little boogers, I'd have to fish out the eggs until they hatch. I am not sticking my hands in a pile of dirt to find bug eggs on purpose. So maybe I don't have the patience or devotion to breed Agnes' regular meals. Regular trips to PetSmart for me.
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