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Short Sale or Foreclosure? - Ashley Taylor

Shit damn. It happened again tonight.  Matt came home and the first words out of his mouth were “Andy (THE mortgage broker) thinks that we should just walk away from this house, hand the keys over to the bank”.  I am sooooo tired of this conversation.  Didn’t I already hand over the keys to my house to someone?  Haven’t I paid my dues?  Apparently not.  Apparently I still owe someone my happiness – MY SANITY.  I am so over this.  I am tired of holding my breath, tired of hoping for a cure, tired of overeating, tired of the heart palpitations, tired of guessing.  Are we making the right decision?  Are we going to hell in a hand basket?  Are we going to get through this?  AUUUUUGGGHHHHH. 

It isn’t getting any better and guess what?  I am tired of looking at an empty glass and pretending that it is half full.  TIRED OF IT.  I am sick of having a “good attitude” and working with creditors, the phone, gas and electric company – promising to send some money soon.  O-V-E-R it.  I am especially worn out on looking into a pseudo crystal ball and hoping for a miracle. 

Speaking of miracles, I want to confess my latest fantasy.  Oh, I am sure that some random thoughts immediately come to mind, eh?  But no.  My fantasy is winning the lottery and it is taking over reality.  Whenever I feel really pushed into a corner, like I am going to just shrivel up and die from anxiety or bankruptcy I immediately shift into a Sybil-like state and hurl myself into this fantasy world – one that wins $78 million in the lottery.  Oh lucky day………….

Now, one has to actually buy a lottery ticket to win, but that’s not part of my fantasy.  Somehow, I win – ticket or no ticket.  Now I am in the shower, shaving my legs and the real fantasy starts. What is so ironic about this fantasy is that I am not suddenly driving an Aston Martin or living in an $8 million dollar house.  No, instead I am simply paying off my debts AND my family’s educational expenses.  I structure a trust where all of my nieces and nephews have all the money in the world for school.  Want to go to Parson School of Design?  Go for it.  Wanna go study in Tuscany?  All yours.  Want your MBA from Wharton.  Why not?  I have the funds and the sky is the limit.  Little Einsteins, reap what you sow.

This is the kicker.  I rent a private jet and tell my family that they have to meet in Dallas for a very important meeting – be there or be square sort of deal.  They won’t buy this so I will really have to encourage them somehow. It may require a needle and syringe.  Then we all board a Gulfstream and head to Necker Island for a week.  Ummmmmmmm, wow.  During that time I discuss with them as a group my fortune and how I want to enrich their lives – no strings attached, no debt owed.  Just live and be happy.  Go Harvard.

Of course there will be other perks, like a yard service and maid for my sister in-law and a wife for my brother (I could buy that, right?).  Things like that.  But that doesn’t put a dent in $78 million, not like education for twelve does.  That is all just icing on the cake – an “afterthought”.  The thing is, this afterthought keeps me going.  It’s creepy and shallow, the whole nine yards.  Yada Yada Yada.  Save it – I know.  It’s my heroin and I may need to go to rehab to overcome it.  That doesn’t worry me at the moment because  this fantasy is saving me, helping me endure and continue.  Breathe.