It's always darkest before it goes pitch black.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, we were told on Thursday that we would most likely not be able to close on our house this month. We were told to make alternate plans - plans that would involve storing our belongings and moving in with my parents indefinitely.

After holding it together for the past month, I finally broke down and cried. Well actually, I sobbed.

Day after day of 'maybe this'll be the day' had taken it's toll. I had lost all hope and with it any shred of optimism I had left. I was emotionally spent and all I could think of was this:



But then, late Friday afternoon, we got the call we'd been waiting for. Our final approval had gone through. We were cleared to close and that date would be the following Thursday.

You'd think we'd be excited. You'd think we'd be bouncing off the walls, but weeks and weeks of waiting and wondering had effectively sucked all joy out of it.

We've had a bottle of champagne sitting in the fridge since the first week in April. We thought we'd pop it on May 8 - our first scheduled closing date. When that day came and went, the bottle got pushed to the back of the fridge with various containers of moldy leftovers.

Last night, I considered digging it out. But instead of popping the cork and making a toast, all I could think to do was use it to bash my brains in.

Ultimately, I left it there, next to a Tupperware of old mac and cheese, and just went to bed.

For now, it's time to focus on the task of moving. Maybe we'll use the champagne when we spend our first night in our new home. Maybe we'll pull it out after the last box has been unpacked.

Though, the way I feel right now, it won't be for toasting. Instead, I'll probably just use it to ice down sore muscles.