My friend and I are thinking of starting a law blog. I believe we have established that I’m not a lawyer and I have shown time and time again that I am, in fact, just barely educated. Nonetheless, I feel that this endeavor will be of service to someone, somewhere. Essentially this new blog will give legal advice to people who are too cheap or apathetic about doing time to hire a real attorney. I think it is safe to say that neither of us are qualified to give legal advice nor, for that matter, advise on relationships, grooming or even basic hygiene but I think it could be a valuable service and who knows, we may even learn a little something about ourselves.

My "law partner" and I discussed this at length over a burrito and the only flaw we could come up with is that we may be held responsible for the god-awful advise we give. To protect ourselves we have decided to refer to ourselves as "lawyers" with the quotation marks. This will clearly protect us from any liability. Of course, we could be mistaken as we are “lawyers” and not lawyers. When discussing your case we will have to use the finger quotes every time we say, “as your quote/ unquote lawyer I would recommend…” This will become tiring to us and annoying to you but we feel that as “attorneys” it is our obligation to remind you that our “legal advice” should not be construed as something that we actually are qualified to answer or have bothered to even look up.

We will keep our overhead low, passing those savings on to you. For instance, instead of owning volumes of case studies and leather bound legal books we will google everything. All a real “attorney” needs is google, a passion for the truth, and focus to keep from downloading internet porn while getting to that truth.

Our mission statement: We are excited by this new endeavor and hope that we don’t devastate too many lives with our “legal expertise”.

Please feel free to send questions regarding divorce, wills, corporate mergers and/or age of consent to me and our team of experts (Read: me an another guy) will begin work immediately (Read: when we get around to it)

I realize I haven’t done an update on the move for a while. The house is not moving. We have many people walk through and are very complimentary but no solid offers. I was shocked to find how many parents are in the market to buy a house for their children; some of these kids are college age- what’s up with that. K- and I are actually kind of calm about it- that’s what happens when two recovered alcoholics/ addicts get brainwashed in AA they become all spiritual n’ shit. Of course, once the date of departure gets closer we will turn on each other like two mice caught in the same glue trap (I just made that expression up, it’s going to be big). But we have decided to turn our will, our lives and our house over to the care of a realtor as we understand her and at 6% some shit better move (squeak, squeak)

K- found a place in Paris to live for the first 2 months while we look for permanent lodgings- it occurred to her that she got this place in the state of panic and we pulled our offer- nothing good can come from a decision based on fear. I’ve seen a new hombre in the blog world called Parisian Cowboy. I sent him a note explaining our situation and seeking advice. Based on his response we are calm, relaxed and in search of another apartment. As The Last Parisian Cowboy saunters into the sunset all we can say is “Who was that masked man? Thanks Parisian Cowboy!”

I sent out a list of 15 places we are interested in and gave the apartment agency 2 days to get back to me. This being a French company I have no doubt that that demand will, in fact, slow down the process and that they might not respond at all. I don’t care it felt good- I felt like captain Kirk barking out orders.

Misplaced: “You have two days to pull this together!!!”
Response: "Damn it Jim, I’m a doctor not an apartment agenct!”
Misplaced: “Oops wrong email address”

The first sign of being one of two mice caught in the same glue trap is citing Star Trek even if you never cared for the show.

It’s odd to have quit our jobs, sold our car, been accepted to graduate school (K- not me) but still not have sold our house which will, for the most part, be financing this fiscal irresponsibility- but I do believe that everything will work out the way it should- but it may not work out the way I want it to (another AA bumper sticker)

Last night I was bored and turned on the TV and happened upon the news. This morning as I drove the big truck into work, not being accustomed to the radio channels I listened to the news on NPR. It occurred to me that I don’t listen to the news any more.

Years ago I was a news junkie- world news on TV, political commentary on the internet, NPR was constantly on- hell, I had a crush on Teri Gross for Christ sake. Somewhere along the line I lost interest in what was going on in the world. Let me rephrase that, I care what’s going on but I’m tired of hearing about the terrible things we do to each other.

Last night and again this morning I realized I know longer bother with hardcore news. I get the New York Times delivered each Sunday but I peruse the front page and The Week in Review but mostly I read The Book Review, the Travel and Arts Sections. I didn’t write about the Virginia Tech shooting because I don’t know anything about it. I heard it was an Asian guy, which is odd because mass murderers are usually white but other than that nothing.

I pondered this for awhile- have I become apathetic? The sad truth is that a part of me has- mass killings are par for the course – aren’t they? Is anyone truly surprised when this happens these days? Shocked. Yes. Surprised. No. I used to watch everything and anything when an ‘event’ went down but it wasn’t out of concern it was more out of fascination- how many people stayed glued to the TV coverage of Virginia Tech because they thought they could effect some change and how many watched out of morbid entertainment. It got less play than the death of Anna Nicole Smith. I’m willing to bet that the majority of people watched it to be entertained. That is not to say they enjoyed it or thought it was funny but that they were consumed with it in the same sense we are entertained by a car crash.

I’m tired of the evil shit that others do from Virginia Tech to Howard K. Stern to George Bush. I find their actions to be an infringement on my life and I have decided to not give them the attention they long for. So I will continue my moratorium on giving the evil of the world my attention.

I started to draft a little post regarding simplicity for the Sunday Scribble people and the more I worked on it the more complicated it became so I decided to just write in a stream of consciousness style about the word Simple. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

Attempting to live a simplified life seems to be the next step in attaining peace and a certain spirituality. There are shelves of books about ‘keeping it simple’, some of them quite complex. Of course picking up these books would add to the clutter and chaos.

“Real Simple” is a magazine we get – I saw a copy of it at my chiropractors and in weak moment, thinking I could reach Nirvana, (the state not the band) by subscribing to this magazine, I ordered it. Now the back issues lay scattered through out the house - the subscription has run its course and every other day I get a not so simple notice that I must renew my subscription or my simple life will implode with complexity. I’m not so certain that making window cleaner out of dog urine is such a simple thing anyway so I will let the subscription lapse.

As a young boy I read the Little House series…yes boys read the book too- you want to read something "peculiar" in that? Anyway, I thought to myself “Oh to live in a simpler time just like the Ingal’s family” I said this in my best Scarlet O’Hara accent, which might be a little "peculiar". Remember how simple their Christmas’ were? - A shiny red apple was one of their presents. Laura got a little doll that Pa made out of an ear of corn and Mary got the bladder of a pig blown up like a balloon. What a simple and lovely life…yea that sounds like a crap Christmas to me. If anyone gave me a doll made out of corn I’d give them some frozen pea “diamonds” or an empty cigarette box "iPod" so they could listen to Alabama (The band not the state). They were so happy in these simpler times that is until Little Mary got struck blind by a some disease like brain fever something you might catch from the bladder of a pig…..

Ok I’m trailing off here. This stream of consciousness business is way too complicated for me.

Whenever I tell people that we are quitting our jobs, moving to Paris and pursuing our own agenda for 1 year they all say the same thing, “Man I wish I could do that”. Actually the first thing they say is “What will you do with your time?” If you have to ask what you will do with you time in a city like Paris you lack imagination. For as many people who have dreamt of doing this it’s amazing how few feel they can or, more importantly, how few actually try. I thought when I began researching the nuts and bolts that there would be a plethora of information to tell me exactly what to do. There wasn’t. I’m starting a new topic section called How to Move to Paris, although it could more aptly be called How Not to Move to Paris because I have screwed up every little item I’m supposed to do and will probably not get a visa before we move.

This topic will bore my small group of regular readers but I figure the people who read this blog are all about pursuing the dream they wont mind a little advice to someone else that wants to runaway and join the circus.

Insurance

Everyone will tell you that France has excellent health coverage. Their healthcare itself, I’ve been told, is one of the best in the world and their healthcare coverage runs circles around the United States, which isn’t hard to do. They have this peculiar notion that healthcare ought to be affordable to everyone. This is ‘crazy talk’ I know but some European countries have strange ideas like this. When you are moving to France- this will be the first thing that excites you. Here’s the catch- you aren’t entitled to it. This, of course makes sense, why should you get great healthcare coverage when you don’t actually pay 40- 50% taxes to finance it. You can’t get a visa to live in Paris unless you buy healthcare insurance for the duration of your stay. It should be noted that even if you didn’t have insurance, you could probably afford the cost of an emergency, it is that reasonable.

K- is attending the American University of Paris, included in her tuition is healthcare insurance. The American University uses AXA Insurance for their coverage. I did a little shopping around but it was by no means an exhaustive search (which is, of course, why this should be titled how not to move to Paris). It was my thinking that the AUP probably did a fair job in researching the insurance and AXA Insurance is the preferred insurance of AARA- Tired of initials yet? (Association of Americans Residing Abroad) I figure that this is probably a reputable insurance company. There are several catches. You need to become a member of the AARA to get the AXA rate of insurance- this, of course sounds like a scam but I think that that is something I’m going to have to get used to. I became a member for 1-½ years at a cost of $111 USD. When you sign up for a membership with the Association of Americans Residing Abroad they will send your name to AXA Insurance. At the same time you can go to the AXA website, www.europeanbenefits.com, print out the forms and fill them out -this includes a medical questionnaire which you are probably used to. You need to mail the original to AXA. Keep in mind that this all takes time and that you will have to email AXA repeatedly to make sure they received the information and that they’ve done something with it. You may think that the amount of money your spending for something you will probably never use would cause the company to be chomping at the bit to sell you this, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Here’s the kicker. The questionnaire you fill out for the insurance company is valid for only 2 months. The visa you are applying for, which requires insurance in place before you can get the Visa should be sent in 4 months before you move- essentially you will need to have your insurance begin well before you are actually in France. You also need to become a member of the AARO before you are actually there, which is why I have a 1 ½ year membership.

I got the most basic coverage one can get. It is for only me and this costs 312 Euros for a 3-month period. You cannot pay the entire year in one shot; you need to pay each 3 months. I’d prefer to pay the year and be done with it but they explained that the rate could go up after the New Year.

Complete costs for the year are:
Membership AALA $111 USD
Insurance for the year $1,694 USD (1 EUR- 1.357 USD)

Total $1,805 USD



After all this mess is sorted out the AXA will email you your insurance card and the paperwork that you need to submit to the French consulate for your Visa.

Man…that was one boring ass post.

It will be strange to leave my job.

I started working here June 1 1998- I was 6 months sober and felt like an exposed, raw nerve. Between the panic attacks, agoraphobia, and fear of people and situations I was a mess. As I’ve mentioned in this blog I’ve always fallen into good jobs with good companies. I was in advertising for years and then worked for a well-known fashion designer but after my little internal collapse my self-confidence as well as my general mental and physical were destroyed. I had hit that rock bottom place- although I now realize that rock bottom is death.

Nine years ago I received a call about some manual labor work- just scraping wallpaper and cleaning up some walls at a house. The only job I was able to handle at that time was for my brother who was paying me to mow the lawns of his rental properties. I’d push the lawn mower and think to myself- ‘this how I made spending money at 14 years old- look at me, 33 and doing the same thing. I hoped no one would see me. How’d I get from advertising and fashion to mowing lawns?’ I, of course knew the answer but that didn’t keep me from asking the question. Someone referred to it a lesson in humility but to me it was humiliating and nothing more.

After 2 weeks of scraping the walls of this house the owner of the house asked if I’d like to work part time in his office- filing papers etc. I accepted but was full of fear the night before my first day. A week later they had me as assistant project manger on renovating a school. 2 years later I was managing a 10 million dollar new school construction. 5 years after I was hired I was made Vice President. 9 years after I was hired I’m quitting to move to Paris. Weird, Huh.

I am a blessed individual- and while I have many character flaws lack of gratitude is not one of them.

My niece picked out the book she wanted for her bedtime story. It was a small, handmade book that her class had given to her for her 6th birthday. It was bound together with yarn, each page had a drawing and happy birthday greetings by her classmates (written by the teacher). I began reading but was stumped by what a boy named Carl wrote.

Dear M-
Happy birthday you smell like a yummy
Carl

“What does smell like a yummy mean?” I asked.
She looked at her dimwitted uncle with a furrowed brow.
“ You know like cake.”
“He thinks you smell like cake?”
“Yes,” she said proudly

Two converstions before 9:00 AM on Tuesday

1.I told Penny that I was getting tired of the blog and was thinking of hanging it up and she responded “Your goal was to write every day, not write until you lost steam” Don’t you hate know-it-all teenagers...especially when they’re right.

2.Since I sold my cool car I’ve been driving a big old truck to work. As I pulled in today and climbed out of the truck, wearing a flannel shirt I said to my work buddy Ray
“Well, look at me driving a truck and wearing a flannel shirt, after 9 years you all have finally made me a man."

He responded. "You were always a man, we just turned you into a redneck”

There was an old man at my job when I first started, 9 years ago. He was, appropriately enough, named Dick and he was mean old man.

He had one of those cancer voice boxes, you know the kind where they put this little mechanism up against their throat and speak through it- I've also heard them referred to as cancer kazoos- although I suspect that this is less than politically correct. The sound of that drone would make me cringe. His main complaint was that he couldn't express emotions with the kazoo although the only emotion I could ever get from him was annoyance. He once explained to me that "you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground" I would, of course, beg to differ. Dick would slam his open hand on my desk and proceed to insult me- I usually ended the converstion by telling him to "get the f* out of my office". He stopped speaking to me after I refused to call him anything but Little Mary Sunshine.

He went into a coma and was put on life support- two days after that his family made the decision to pull the plug. I always thought it was interesting that they only took two days to make that call. I think you are supposed to re-evaluate your opinion of people out of respect after they die- I didn't- Dick was a mean old man.

I grew up Catholic but I'm not a religious person. It's very rare that I go to church- only when I have to such as weddings. This weekend my nephew had his first communion and so off to church I went. K- stayed home to man (woman?) the open house.

I was amazed at how many college students were at the service. Aren't college students supposed to pull away from organized religion and then come groveling back with their tail between their legs when they have kids? Apparently that isn't how it works these days because the church was lousy with them.

The other shocking thing is that I've apparently become my mother. As I said, I don't go to church but I am quick to judge people who do go to church dressed in jeans and flip flops. I remember arguing with my mom when I was a teenager about this. "It doesn't matter how people dress- that just shows what bullshit* it is" You know what 'know-it-alls' idiotic teenagers can be. I have become old, stoggy and judgemental- Sweet!

*If I ever actually said 'bullshit'to my mom she would smack the BS right out of me

I was getting my daily reading fix from the writers on the right when I came upon an odd comment in one of the blogs. The blogger is a 17 year old girl who is writing about her struggles with being that age as well as some very heavy shit that went down recently. I'm sure most of you read her and have been following her saga. Its an excellent blog.

One commenter has been leaving messages that could be construed as suspect. The last comment he(or so I assume) left is down right creepy. What is the responsibility of a reader to a writer? Is it inappropriate to send an email or leave a public comment suggesting that a line is being crossed? We read each others daily life entries and soon enough we feel apart of each others lives- but are we really? Do we have the same rights and responsibilities to watch each others backs? Add to this confusion the fact that I'm an adult male- is it inappropriate for me to send a note suggesting she use caution with this person?

It's probably too late to bring this up because I sent a note suggesting intuition is something to be followed. Although I wonder if I was out of line in doing so.

It is not only eerily quiet in the world of blogs (at least mine) but also in my house. No one arrived to our open house today. It was like a Mary Tyler Moore party, except we couldn't even get a drunk Lou Grant to visit. I suppose its important to keep good thoughts but the house needs to sell for us to move to Paris and we are hitting the T minus 2 months mark (I don't even know what that means but we are leaving in August if that helps).

The nice thing about an open house is that you have to stay home and you can't make a mess- that leaves me with nothing to do but study french. I have a very bad feeling about grasping this language and part of me doesn't care. I've come to the point that if I can't ask for it in french then I will probably need to do without it. This includes clothes, food (other than that to which I can point) and any personal hygiene products. I will be very skinny, smell bad and wearing last years fashion. Good thing I'm already married and can let myself go.

I always enjoyed the metaphor of the mask. The mask we wear to hide our true selves, the mask we are afraid to let down.

As I've grown older it seems less of a metaphor. The many "masks" I have to wear and choose to wear are all me- they aren't masks at all- just different aspects of one more complex individual, as we all are.

It may be easier to accept the many, often contradictory personas of who I am with the metaphor of a mask, but in truth I am all these things. Maybe the frightening thing isn't that the mask hides our true selves, maybe the unsettling thing is that we are the mask. It is just another aspect of our true selves.

My foray into public transportation ended as soon as it had begun. The thing about a Midwestern city that doesn't have a really good public transportation is that the people who actually take it generally are poor and don't smell very good. (This isn't actually true but in my mind I want it to be)

My brother called me last night and said, "I hear you're taking the bus- you can use my truck until it sells, if you want"

I thought about the friends I made on the bus (that one day I actually took it), the laughter, the tears, the little pieces of ourselves that we shared and said, "Hell to the yea!- I'll catch you suckas on the flip side!"


Update: 5 minutes later
My boss walked in, saw the truck and bought it.- damn, I'm back to mixing with the unwashed masses. What's up with people buying vehicles all willy nilly?

Ahhhh the car is gone. I had it washed, filled it with gas and dropped it off to the young Spanish couple that bought it. It feels as though a little weight has been taken off. I am a public transportation guy. Just me and 50 screaming, annoying, acne scarred high schoolers. It will take all of two days before I long for the little weight of my car to be put back on my shoulder

...and if those kids read this blog here's a translation of what I wrote.

Ahhhh tha ride is gone bitch ass nigga. I had it washed, filled it wit gas n dropped it off ta tha young Spanish couple that bought it. It be like a shawty weight done been taken off paper'd up. I am a public transportizzles guy. Jizzust me n 50 pimpin' annoy'n, acne scarred hizzigh bitch. It W-to-tha-izzill takes all of two days before I long fo` tha shawty weight of mah ride ta be put bizzay on mah shoulda now pass the glock Anotha dogg house production..

OK that will be the last time I do that

A Day In The Life

You sit around a long oval table, there are 8 lawyers looking at you. One lawyer has been asking you questions for 5 hours, the others look bored but still they just stare because there is nothing else to do and you are the only game in town. You have been sworn in, the lawyer asking the questions hands you page after page of "evidence" and asks you about each one. The stenographer silently takes notes- you are amazed at how quickly she can type- 5 hours straight and she hasn't missed a beat. You realize that in about a week you will get a copy of your deposition. How many "ummmms" have been caught, how many "Ya know"s ? After five hours of everyone looking at you and asking you questions about something that happened 8 years ago you start to drift. You look out the window, over an expanse of land which no longer shows any evidence of the farms that were there 10 years ago- just corporate park after corporate park after corporate park. Another piece of evidence (#67) is handed to you. "Do you recognize this letter?" As your eyes come back into the room and leave the the vista beyond you think to yourself, "I really need to learn how to buy vegitables by metric weight- that will be important in Paris"

I feel as thought my blog doesn't reach out and talk to the kids. This ought to take care of it.

I do it for the kids.

We had a little gathering for K’s birthday this weekend- along with showing the house it was a busy time but very pleasurable. I bought balloons for both occasions and a little helium tank. What a joy balloons are! I think they, like flowers in vases, should be scattered around the house for splashes of color.

One of my helium balloons got away from me a floated up to the sky- where it is now I have no idea. The adult in me knows that it has deflated and has landed softly, a few blocks away, but the child in me is certain it is still flying; floating at its own pace toward some foreign land.

When I was a child, while on vacation with my family at the Gulf of Mexico, I put a note with my name and address in a bottle and threw it in the gulf. I was filled with excitement at the possibilities of the bottles journey. Perhaps I would receive a letter 50 years later from someone in China who had just retrieved my aged note. I imagined it bumping against a pirate ship- floating, unconcerned, along side a whale. The possibilities were endless.

An hour later I saw some lady walking down the street with my bottle and the note still jammed in it- she couldn’t get it out. That is the problem with endless possibilities the end result might be rather dull.

Could I be more remiss in posting on my little blog? My heart isn't in it. I thought that Sunday Scribbles might jolt me out of the lethargy but the topic was second chances so I, like a slacker that I am, gave an old post a second chance and resubmitted it. I even tried to play it off as an homage to mother's day when in fact I forgot mother's day was coming up and it was a complete coincidence. How lame is that?

K- had the laser surgery done on her eyes today- actually it was done about a month ago and had to be redone because it didn't take.

I'm being deposed by a bunch of a attorneys on Monday regarding a project we did 7 or 8 years ago and I'm feeling a little intimidated (but I'll get over it).

I have been on a low carb diet for a week and I've been dreaming about ice cream and oatmeal raisin cookies (I love me some oatmeal raisin cookies). I have also been very cranky.

Should it be this hot in May?

I've been tagged to mention 7 random things about myself. That's easy- in fact everything I write is random stuff about me. Harder will be sending this tag to 7 bloggers. I don't think I know 7 bloggers to "tag" so I thought I might send it to 7 completely random blogs. I will have to consider who to send this to but here are 7 compleyely random things about me.


1. When I was a child my sister, little brother and I always had a contest called "Who can make the sharpest pointy” A pointy is made by using the end of your pillowcase, preferably very well starched, and folding a section, about 2 inches into a point like a paper airplane. It felt really good to run this ‘pointy’ along your arm or your upper lip- it tickled. I’m 43, I still do this in my sleep (to be truthful I also do it when I'm awake.

2. I stopped drinking at 33 and have never had an alcoholic drink since – except once, when a Thai restaurant put hard lemonade in my ice tea.- I don’t know what hard lemonade is.

3. My parents, to punish me for bad grades, wouldn’t let me get my license at 16. By 18 they were begging me to take the test.

4. Everyone seems to love the “Mona Lisa” -it’s considered a masterpiece. I don’t know what makes the “Mona Lisa” any better than the painting of the dogs playing poker.

5. I fell in love (from afar) with a girl named Jackie LeBlanc in the 7th grade- she had a crooked nose.

6. I took 5 years of Latin in High School- I can’t speak Latin.

7. When I was in grade school I saw a boy in my class get hit by a car as he walked home. His mom came running down the street screaming and crying. Even though his legs were turned around backwards he said “Don’t cry, mom” I’ll never forget that.

It was a good weekend. I organized a street sale on Saturday which was good fun. K- and I cleared almost $400 but, more importantly, we got rid of some crap. Our buddies down the street sold $1,200 and $300 more on sunday. We had several people express interest in the cars we were selling. One couple, just moved from Spain took the Saab for a test ride. I wasn't interested in going with them but they didn't know how to drive an automatic- I'd never heard of such a thing. If you can't drive an automatic doesn't that mean you just can't drive? I didn't care I need to sell the cars. We began our journey in a stop and go manner. He kept his left foot on the break and his right on the gas. "ewwww the breaks are very touchy" He said after nearly sending me through thre windshield. "Only when you slam on them" I responded- I gave him a quick lesson in the automatic and we hit the highway without incident or accident. They expressed an interest in purchasing the car which is good and bad. Good, because we have to sell it and bad because we don't move until August. There was some interest in K's car, a '98 Jetta - I even tried to pawn it off on the Spaniards but he said, after our highway drive, "Once you've driven a Saab, it's hard to drive a Jetta" My thinking exactly.

Sunday- an absolutly beautiful day- we had an open house. K- went to brunch and I studied french on the deck while complete strangers wanderered through our house, poking, prodding and silently judging us. Ponette, the tri-colored bitch cat from Hell, did very well and didn't even vomit ...at least not yet. There weren't many people at the open house, maybe five couples, which makes me nervous- the house needs to sell to make this trip work. We still have plenty of time but there should be more interest in the house then that. It's a tough market but I was hoping our great location would offset that- we shall see.

My great grandfather boarded a ship in the late 1800’s and crossed the ocean. He sailed from Europe to America in search of a better life.

Several generations later a number of his descendents have boarded planes and moved back to Europe, also in search of a better life.

What lies beyond the ocean has always fascinated us. We expect a better life than the one we leave- it will be better “over-there” and while this may be true in some cases I suspect that in the majority of instances there is little to no change other than geography. The old saying still holds true- wherever you go there you are.

I don’t know how much my great grandfather’s life really changed- certainly his children and his children’s children have found what he sought, but I don’t know that he did.

If I truly want change when I move to France I will need to not only change the landscape but I will also need to reassess what is happening within me. Complacency is the kiss of death to meaningful change.

My sister used to have a philosophy that she lived by. I don't know if she still does or not, I hope she does.

A long time ago she told me that she tries to break the law at least once a day. These aren't big, good idea laws she was talking about but rather little laws that don't always make sense- like not jaywalking if you can make it, not running a red light when no one is around or ripping that tag off your mattress. I don't know why, but that seems like a good philosophy- keeps us fresh.

The last two days I have been feeling "The Panic".

The dollar plummets overseas- our spending power decreases daily.

The housing market is terrible- what if we can't sell the house?

Usually K- is the worrier and I comfort her with "everything is going to be fine- it will work out the way it's supposed to" Being of service to others is an old recovery trick- if you comfort another you don't have time to think about yourself. Apparently I've made time to do both.