I close my eyes, say a prayer and open my property tax statement.
I don’t want to read it. But I do.
Then — I can’t put it down — and I’m mumbling, shaking my head, rocking back and forth, twisting my hair —
Get the picture?
This can’t be — I repeat over and over and over —
Flip the switch to activate distress response. Stagger 20 feet from the kitchen to my tiny closet office. Find and dig through the folder marked “Wells Fargo Mortgage” —
Hold my breath as I put my hands on the recent statement.
And then it registers — no — it “clicks” —
A pistol cocked and pointed right between —
But there it is. The same number.
The current amount I owe — after three years of stuffing every bit of extra cash I can into my mortgage — is now equal to —
My current estimated market value.
Feel very sorry for myself.
And then — it occurs to me —
With how tough it is out there, I am one of the lucky ones.
Never coulda woulda said this a year ago but it’s true now —
If you’re lucky enough to say you’re running harder just to stay in place — well —
You’re lucky enough.