I got home from group therapy tonight (which was really great- I will fill you in tomorrow) only to find that it looks like I won't be able to close on my condo.

Why?

The building (not necessarily my unit, but the building itself) had some Chinese drywall in it.  My unit didn't appear to have any of this, but without ripping everything out, there's no way to prove that it didn't.  And Freddie and Fannie won't give mortgages to places that might have Chinese drywall.  Since there's no way to prove that my place doesn't have the drywall, the assumption is that it does.

Which leaves me without a place--assuming my real estate agent says what I think she's going to say, which is walk away now. 

I had hoped that, for once in my life, something could go according to plan.  That it would go like: girl finds house, girls gets mortgage to buy house, girl buys house.  Finances aren't my problem.  Finding a place isn't a problem.  Stupid, cheap-ass builders who imported toxic drywall is my problem.  I had hoped that this was a sign that my life was starting to come together.  My career is actually doing well.  I am starting to make real progress in recovery.  I was hoping to have my own place to go along with all of this.

It's one of those moments when I just want to write a note that says "Dear Universe, F*ck you, too.  Love, Carrie."

I realize the situation could be a lot worse.  I could be like the current owners who can't sell their place because it might have Chinese drywall.  I could have bought the place only to find out later that it had this problem.  I'm trying to remind myself of this.

And it still sucks.  I'm feeling more than a little sour.  I don't want to go through all of this again.  It sucks.  It's a pain.  But no amount of whinging is going to change that.

Sorry- it feels better to get this off my chest.