Pushy Neighbors and Various Slack-Asses

Just got bum-rushed by the neighbors again. The popular tactic that they and their friends, the people who want to buy the house, use is for one of the neighbors to come knock on the door and then say “Hi, someone wants to talk to you,” then step aside to reveal the buyers standing at the foot of the steps. Or to come over, knock on the door, say “Hi” and shove a cellphone in my face.

Well, the pattern holds. I just had a typically bizarre session of wrangling with the buyers. They wanted to know what was going on with The Wife in regard to the house. Well, as with nearly everything else where The Wife is concerned, I haven't a clue. She sent me the paperwork showing that she had signed it. As far as I know, that paperwork was turned over to her lawyer and the sale of house is proceeding forthwith. They know as much as I know. I asked them “What do you expect me to do? You guys seems to think I have some sort of influence over her.” It's not like she answers my e-mail or anything.

I'll keep my opinions to myself. What I believe is going on is probably pretty near the truth. But, of course, I have no way of knowing for sure until the shit hits the fan. So to speak. All I know is that so far I haven't heard anything from the mortgage company. I haven't heard anything from The Wife (who has been keeping a low profile since I requested copies of said paperwork). I'm going back to work next week (though probably not on Monday). For the foreseeable future everything I own will be in a storage building. How the fuck should I know what The Wife has been up to? She set her charges and danced away into the night. Except for some ritualized regret posted for the benefit of her friends, she never once looked back at the flames. You think I, of all people, could get her attention on this?

I'm looking forward to moving on from here. For various reasons. The house is fucked. It's gone. These people are harassing the shit out of me. Relatives all want free run of my belongings, but don't want to get off their arses to come get anything. I just want to get back into my truck and disappear into the night, and leave these vultures behind me to squabble over the carcass of my past.

I do, truly and deeply, believe in the Wiccan Threefold Law. All I really know is that I'm the only one walking clear of this who can do so with a clear conscience, albeit a lifetime and regret and, yes I'll say it, loss. Toss in a dash of hope, I suppose.

How I resent these stiff, tortured bones,
the aching, sweaty weight of flesh

I would be free, formless and weightless;
a whisper on soft summer winds

I would be strong, but incorporeal;
rolling thunder and falling rain

Become music, and danced abandon;
slip these mortal bonds for the skies.

And to those who will eventually ask, yes, the poem is mine. I know I quote it a lot, but I wrote it, goddamn it. I'll cling to it if I want to.