I don’t know if I was telling you this so I’ll give you the back story (quickly) before I tell you why I am starting to freak out now.
Several weeks ago I called my mortgage company and asked if I could just stop paying my mortgage until I got on my feet again. They had a plan that allowed me to skip one payment but I could only do this once a year. Okay, some help is better than none so I signed up. I went to my bank’s website so that I could adjust the date of the next payment by a month.
I checked my statement yesterday and they took out 2 mortgage payments. Huh?
I call said mortgage company because I was sweating having to pay the regular mortgage payment and now my balance has dropped by more than I care for. So I call the mortgage company. I won’t say they didn’t care but their level of feeling in this situation hovered somewhere around zero. They suggested I call the bank.
I got the bank on the phone. I tell them about the mix-up. Their basic stance is “you were going to pay it anyway, right?”. I tell them I am currently out of work and every dollar is of utmost importance. The best they can do is offer a ‘stop check’ for $20.
I tell them as dispassionately I can that the check has already cleared and been deposited in their account. “You might want to call them” is the advice I’m given. “I called them first” I tell the dim-witted woman “and they told me to call you”.
“I’m sorry to say this” she says “but the bank has done their job. It does not appear that the error is ours”. I go on to explain that I never called it an error, I’d just like the money credited back to me. I’m getting nowhere with the bank, I decided to call the mortgage company back.
Long story short, the mortgage company does not offer rebates. Short story long I’m adjusting the date on the automated payment to skip next month since they got two payments this month.
I understand that I would be paying that money eventually but now my staying out of work power has been completely zapped.
I calm myself by saying the Unemployment I’m drawing will be working a little harder. I figured that it would take 3 unemployment checks just to cover my mortgage. More belt-tightening is in order, I understand.
So I hop on the website to tell them about the jobs for which I’ve applied so I can keep the money flowing in my direction. I enter my information just to get a notice that says my weeks are up. Uh, what?!?
By my calculations I’m only halfway through my ‘term’ using both weeks and maximum dollar amount as my gauge. The Virginia Employment Commission office I need is clearly not working on the weekend so I have to call them Monday and find out what’s going on.
If somehow that’s true, I am totally and unequivocally boned.
[UPDATE]
While I was sitting here ranting about it, I tried to call the bank and mortgage company and see if I could get someone different to hopefully solve the problem. I called the bank and told the nice gentleman my issue. He was very understanding of the problem but said the mortgage company would have to reverse the charges.
I called the mortgage company but now I’m outside their calling window (it being Saturday, and all). Guess that will be another Monday call.
[END OF UPDATE]
Where was I? Oh yes, freaking out. So in my state of being unglued, I thought to myself “what would calm me down the most in the situation? What might give me some enlightenment into my future?” No, I didn’t visit a psychic. I actually went to church.
There’s a catholic church a few miles from my house so I paid them a little visit. By all accounts it was exactly what I was looking for: no cushy church pew’s here, these were nice hard wooden planks. The place is actually very masculine. Wooden paneling, marble baptism font, everything perpendicular to everything else. It calmed me almost immediately.
I haven’t been to a catholic church in a number of years but I still remembered all the responses and ‘chanting’ that’s done. What I wasn’t prepared for was all the singing, I mean, I know there are certain places in the mass where music is played but these people sang almost everything.
At some points it was funny because I’m opening my mouth to SAY the response and the congregation is waiting to SING the response. Yes, the woman who was doing the cantering had a very nice voice but I also thought she did a big “sell job” at some point to have more of the mass sung – that’s just my opinion.
Anyhow, I was hoping to get something out of the scripture readings… something that spoke to me… but there was nothing there. I listened to every word in the sermon and began to latch on to the priest’s imagery of light shining down upon us, but then he lost me and went off on some tangent.
I ate the Eucharist (dry brown bread), drank the wine (tasted like a blush or rosé) and didn’t feel guilty about it afterwards… still don’t.
But the part I wanted the most worked like a charm: it calmed me down. I can’t remember the last time I was that frazzled. It’s too much coming at me, too many things going wrong, too many hopes pinned on a follow-up interview on Monday.
I’m a realist, I try to see the big picture, I know that in 5 years none of this will matter, but it matters to me now and I have to deal with it now.
If things don’t work out on Monday I’m going to have to make some tough decisions about my future. I’m the kind of person who generally floats along, dealing with my issues and then moving on. I’m not used to being faced with life-altering decisions.
Come Monday afternoon, after my interview, one way or the other there will be tears – joy or sadness.
Maybe God or Karma or whoever is trying to tell me something. Maybe I’ve wandered around the grocery store long enough and it’s time to pay up at the register (I am so NOT talking about suicide here, that’s why I didn’t use the phrase ‘check out’. That’s not EVEN an option I would ever consider, ever).
I just think the powers-that-be are trying to force me to live more aggressively, not just lope along like some kid strapped in the back seat of a mini-van.
You got your wish, whoever you are, I’m taking a long hard look at my life. I’m middle-aged and this is, apparently, what middle-aged people do.
Can you give me some sort of sign that you’re satisfied with my progress, please?
Several weeks ago I called my mortgage company and asked if I could just stop paying my mortgage until I got on my feet again. They had a plan that allowed me to skip one payment but I could only do this once a year. Okay, some help is better than none so I signed up. I went to my bank’s website so that I could adjust the date of the next payment by a month.
I checked my statement yesterday and they took out 2 mortgage payments. Huh?
I call said mortgage company because I was sweating having to pay the regular mortgage payment and now my balance has dropped by more than I care for. So I call the mortgage company. I won’t say they didn’t care but their level of feeling in this situation hovered somewhere around zero. They suggested I call the bank.
I got the bank on the phone. I tell them about the mix-up. Their basic stance is “you were going to pay it anyway, right?”. I tell them I am currently out of work and every dollar is of utmost importance. The best they can do is offer a ‘stop check’ for $20.
I tell them as dispassionately I can that the check has already cleared and been deposited in their account. “You might want to call them” is the advice I’m given. “I called them first” I tell the dim-witted woman “and they told me to call you”.
“I’m sorry to say this” she says “but the bank has done their job. It does not appear that the error is ours”. I go on to explain that I never called it an error, I’d just like the money credited back to me. I’m getting nowhere with the bank, I decided to call the mortgage company back.
Long story short, the mortgage company does not offer rebates. Short story long I’m adjusting the date on the automated payment to skip next month since they got two payments this month.
I understand that I would be paying that money eventually but now my staying out of work power has been completely zapped.
I calm myself by saying the Unemployment I’m drawing will be working a little harder. I figured that it would take 3 unemployment checks just to cover my mortgage. More belt-tightening is in order, I understand.
So I hop on the website to tell them about the jobs for which I’ve applied so I can keep the money flowing in my direction. I enter my information just to get a notice that says my weeks are up. Uh, what?!?
By my calculations I’m only halfway through my ‘term’ using both weeks and maximum dollar amount as my gauge. The Virginia Employment Commission office I need is clearly not working on the weekend so I have to call them Monday and find out what’s going on.
If somehow that’s true, I am totally and unequivocally boned.
[UPDATE]
While I was sitting here ranting about it, I tried to call the bank and mortgage company and see if I could get someone different to hopefully solve the problem. I called the bank and told the nice gentleman my issue. He was very understanding of the problem but said the mortgage company would have to reverse the charges.
I called the mortgage company but now I’m outside their calling window (it being Saturday, and all). Guess that will be another Monday call.
[END OF UPDATE]
Where was I? Oh yes, freaking out. So in my state of being unglued, I thought to myself “what would calm me down the most in the situation? What might give me some enlightenment into my future?” No, I didn’t visit a psychic. I actually went to church.
There’s a catholic church a few miles from my house so I paid them a little visit. By all accounts it was exactly what I was looking for: no cushy church pew’s here, these were nice hard wooden planks. The place is actually very masculine. Wooden paneling, marble baptism font, everything perpendicular to everything else. It calmed me almost immediately.
I haven’t been to a catholic church in a number of years but I still remembered all the responses and ‘chanting’ that’s done. What I wasn’t prepared for was all the singing, I mean, I know there are certain places in the mass where music is played but these people sang almost everything.
At some points it was funny because I’m opening my mouth to SAY the response and the congregation is waiting to SING the response. Yes, the woman who was doing the cantering had a very nice voice but I also thought she did a big “sell job” at some point to have more of the mass sung – that’s just my opinion.
Anyhow, I was hoping to get something out of the scripture readings… something that spoke to me… but there was nothing there. I listened to every word in the sermon and began to latch on to the priest’s imagery of light shining down upon us, but then he lost me and went off on some tangent.
I ate the Eucharist (dry brown bread), drank the wine (tasted like a blush or rosé) and didn’t feel guilty about it afterwards… still don’t.
But the part I wanted the most worked like a charm: it calmed me down. I can’t remember the last time I was that frazzled. It’s too much coming at me, too many things going wrong, too many hopes pinned on a follow-up interview on Monday.
I’m a realist, I try to see the big picture, I know that in 5 years none of this will matter, but it matters to me now and I have to deal with it now.
If things don’t work out on Monday I’m going to have to make some tough decisions about my future. I’m the kind of person who generally floats along, dealing with my issues and then moving on. I’m not used to being faced with life-altering decisions.
Come Monday afternoon, after my interview, one way or the other there will be tears – joy or sadness.
Maybe God or Karma or whoever is trying to tell me something. Maybe I’ve wandered around the grocery store long enough and it’s time to pay up at the register (I am so NOT talking about suicide here, that’s why I didn’t use the phrase ‘check out’. That’s not EVEN an option I would ever consider, ever).
I just think the powers-that-be are trying to force me to live more aggressively, not just lope along like some kid strapped in the back seat of a mini-van.
You got your wish, whoever you are, I’m taking a long hard look at my life. I’m middle-aged and this is, apparently, what middle-aged people do.
Can you give me some sort of sign that you’re satisfied with my progress, please?