This post is part of a series inspired by the death contemplation app:  WeCroak.  These events happened a few days ago.  

At 9 pm last night we were told that the seller received five offers and had not accepted any yet, but would let us know by 5 pm today.  We were encouraged to put our best offers forward.

What is this a damn auction?

Then you have that moment where you start going over all the purchases of dumb things you’ve ever made.

Did I really need that couch?  Can I sell this lamp? I have so many yoga workshop regrets.

Then, I felt super zen about it.  Yes, this will all work out the way it’s meant to.

Then, I read my tarot cards about it.  Just wait.  Trust your gut.

Still feeling zen, I was happy to sleep on it.

Then, I had a dream that the floor was rotting from the house and no one else wanted it.

Is that like an anxiety dream or a psychic dream?  How can you tell the difference?

My realtor called.  I was honest:  “I have no idea what to do.”

She suggests we just up the offer one grand.  It’s just a thousand dollars…no big deal…right?

Okay.  One more grand, but that’s it.  Then we’re done.  Take it or leave it.  Line in the sand.

I’m excited.

Then, I start thinking about this other house we looked at that was smaller and around the same price.  Why the similar price?  What am I not getting?  Maybe I do have psychic dreams.

Nervous again.  Nauseous.  I go to yoga class.

Feeling a bit better.

Go to Starbucks.  Craving meat.  Get a chorizo sandwich and a tall flat white with coconut milk.  They put sugar in this…I can tell. Oh God…I did not need any more caffeine today.

Teach a yoga class.  Decided to tell everyone in the class we made an offer on a house.  Oh shit, now they are all invested in this.

One student looks at me straight in the eyes as she as leaving, “You’re gonna get the house.”

Fuck. Is SHE psychic?

I check my phone for the hundreth time.  Nothing.

I drive home, and a wave of peace comes over me as I pull in our apartment the parking lot.  God…everything WILL work out.  Wait…what does that mean?  Like, it will work out and we’ll get this house…or it will work out and we won’t, but something better will happen?  Or like this damn app says…we’re all going to die so it doesn’t really matter?

I clean house.  I hate cleaning, but it seems like a good thing to do.  I’m kinda shaky.

I put on Manorama on Spotify chanting the shanti mantra.  I need all the yogic powers I can get.

My cat Lucy hates mantras, I think.  She meows and stares at the phone.


“Guys!  Congratulations…”

Our realtor messaged us to say they accepted our offer.

We close in 30 days.