Blasé
The house is well and truly sold; the papers and the check arrived late last week. When my throat re-opened after the check came out of the envelope, I called my husband to take a look.
“A lot of money,” he said.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’ll go put it on the fridge with the other one, then” he said, and did. (“The other one” is a year’s Gateway to Sindarin royalties. A tidy sum, but hardly an overpoweringly impressive one, for those of you who think that Tolkien studies is a quick route to Easy Street.)
Blasé soul, isn’t he?
So for a few days we had about three years’ worth of my current gross salary (benefits not included) magnetted to our fridge door. On Monday I decided my nerves wouldn’t take any more of that, and did up the paperwork to stash it in a money-market fund. Paperwork plus checks duly went out by registered mail yesterday, and I remembered how to breathe. (Though I’ll feel better yet when it actually gets there.)
There’s a little more house-related money coming our way. USAA owes us a substantial refund on the rewritten insurance policy we paid for. As soon as the electric company debits our last bill, I can finally close the credit-union account back in Madison. And TDS Metrocom, drat them, decided to be blasé about fixing their billing errors, and debited us again for nonexistent phone and DSL service. I sent them a sharply-worded email, and will call them to speak in decidedly non-blasé tones if they don’t get their act together.
And I owe an invoice to a client, gah. Am trying to avoid thinking about it.