My house is now on the market for 20% less than what I paid for it, and people are tromping through here on a nearly daily basis poking through my medicine cabinet and laundry basket and porn collection. It's difficult in the best of circumstances letting total strangers into your home, but knowing that they are rubbing their hands together over a major bargain-basement price, which I am forced to offer because of my dire financial situation, the whole thing makes me resent the hell out of them, the mortgage company, the economy, George Bush, Milton Friedman, and God Himself. My house is now the cheapest four bedroom in the neighborhood, and it makes ME feel cheap by association. I'll be able to walk away from debt, which of course is good, but with absolutely no cash in hand, and certainly none of the investment I put into the place, most of which was inherited from my hard-working, frugal, conservative Yankee grandparents who carefully put that money aside from me so I could one day buy a house...and now look what's happened to their dream. Yep, I messed that one up but good.
And now with the vultures circling around my cheap little 4 BR 2 ½ BA it's only a matter of time before an offer comes in and we're out on the sidewalk. And this is just HOUSING stress I'm talking about here. We haven't gone into work stress, parenting stress, family-of-origin stress, all of which is considerable at the moment. I'm sure it will all work out, one way or another, but the next few months to a year is going to be challenging AS IF MY LIFE HAS NOT BEEN CHALLENGING ENOUGH.