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Abstract

id="a178">I get it. Some people will experience absolute hardship. Really, I do. I’m in couch surfing mode since this isn’t my house anymore. There’s only so long I can sustain this while having children.</p><p id="5267">We’re approaching property tax time. I need to get out of the house before Joseph insists that I pitch in for it.</p><p id="c735">He doesn’t get that unlike him, he won’t get kicked out of this house. He has the dough from his inheritance. His bills will be higher but he’s not homeless.</p><p id="cf70">On the other hand, I don’t have <i>anything</i>. I’m just trying to get my foot in the door of even a rundown, dilapidated shack. This isn’t me whining that my bills will go up a bit like Joseph’s case. This is me whining that <a href="https://readmedium.com/im-walking-away-from-this-marriage-with-nothing-98f8180795c2">I don’t know where I’ll be living in a few months</a>, if I’m living anywhere other than my former marital home.</p><p id="f9c3">Anyone can say that in the grand scheme, what’s another month?</p><p id="e641">Well, aside that it’s the summer and it would be a lot easier to get moving before the kids’ school year starts, it’s like a punch in the gut when I’ve finally had something to look forward to.</p><p id="f58a">This pandemic has been a bitch to live through. Word to the wise: don’t split up with a spouse during a pandemic because it won’t be only three months like you initially thought. I needed something, <i>anything</i>, to be a beacon of hope during this nightmare.</p><p id="beef">June 30th was my beacon. To me, it was a win. Something that would wake up society and bring stability back to this wonky real estate market. As of this month, Southern California homes are rising at a rate of $1 every two minutes. Those aren’t homes going to regular humans. Those are homes going to investors; they’ll never go back on the market to be accessible for us plebs. They’re permanent rental properties.</p><p id="1a76">While there will be an inevitable crash, it will most likely plateau. These aren’t people with shitty loans like 2008. These are investors with dough to throw around. They’re also people who have a shit ton of equity (<i>unlike 2008</i>) and can use that to buy homes they’ll rent out for supplemental income.</p><p id="597b">Even if there is a crash, it only matters if you’re looking to sell your house. If you’re st

Options

aying in the home anyway for a decade, then the value of the house is irrelevant.</p><p id="4315">So here we are. A kick in the nuts at the sliver of hope I had.</p><p id="eed0">Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sitting here bawling in misery. My attitude is more like, “Of <i>course</i> somehow Covid will find a way to continuously fuck me over.” It’s only been eighteen fucking months of dealing with this nightmare.</p><p id="3732">I’m putting down my megaphone and getting off this soapbox. The person behind me who also can’t begin their new life can begin their rant.</p><p id="1d77">Get in line, folks.</p><div id="ab64" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/divorce-financial-paperwork-is-the-worst-6a8a2086dd26"> <div> <div> <h2>Divorce Financial Paperwork is The Worst</h2> <div><h3>It’s as miserable as my actual marriage</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*xf6q4DifMSX5tV0W)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="2ed0" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/revenge-bedtime-procrastination-is-killing-me-3540dc809c88"> <div> <div> <h2>Revenge Bedtime Procrastination Is Killing Me</h2> <div><h3>Oh sleep, I miss you baby</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*0gOKqQ9Mfw73FdjT)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="864c" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/diagnosed-with-autism-at-43-585a6cfbcdf6"> <div> <div> <h2>Diagnosed With Autism at 43</h2> <div><h3>The relief of finally knowing and the emotions behind it all.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*NqFZrUTbPXs9g8uu)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

What the Foreclosure Moratorium Extension Means

July 31st, 2021 is too far away

This is bullshit.

Seriously. Bullshit.

I’ve been trapped at home with my Soon-To-Be-Ex-Husband for the duration of this fucking pandemic.

I can’t move out because the housing and rental market is insane.

Can’t buy anything because there is no inventory. The few homes on the market get snapped up by investors who have all cash, don’t need an inspection, and can afford to buy sight-unseen because they have the resources to easily do repairs.

There’s no inventory because there’s no movement in people’s lives. That includes foreclosed homes that investors can purchase instead.

Can’t rent because there’s an eviction moratorium. No one wants to take on tenants when they don’t have to pay rent anyway.

This eviction and foreclosure moratorium was extended dozens of times. This time, June 30th seemed like the actual real date.

Until today, June 24th. It got extended. Again.

This time, they promise July 31st is the last extension. They wanted to give everyone enough time to prepare. Unlike the last 17 months of a pandemic which was not long enough for anyone to plan.

I’m trying not to get angry. But I’m angry. I’ve been patient. I feel like I’ve been patient in trying to make the marriage work. I was patient in finding alternatives to divorce. I’ve been patient while living in divorce limbo in the same house for over a year. I’ve been patient about not buying anything.

I get it. Some people will experience absolute hardship. Really, I do. I’m in couch surfing mode since this isn’t my house anymore. There’s only so long I can sustain this while having children.

We’re approaching property tax time. I need to get out of the house before Joseph insists that I pitch in for it.

He doesn’t get that unlike him, he won’t get kicked out of this house. He has the dough from his inheritance. His bills will be higher but he’s not homeless.

On the other hand, I don’t have anything. I’m just trying to get my foot in the door of even a rundown, dilapidated shack. This isn’t me whining that my bills will go up a bit like Joseph’s case. This is me whining that I don’t know where I’ll be living in a few months, if I’m living anywhere other than my former marital home.

Anyone can say that in the grand scheme, what’s another month?

Well, aside that it’s the summer and it would be a lot easier to get moving before the kids’ school year starts, it’s like a punch in the gut when I’ve finally had something to look forward to.

This pandemic has been a bitch to live through. Word to the wise: don’t split up with a spouse during a pandemic because it won’t be only three months like you initially thought. I needed something, anything, to be a beacon of hope during this nightmare.

June 30th was my beacon. To me, it was a win. Something that would wake up society and bring stability back to this wonky real estate market. As of this month, Southern California homes are rising at a rate of $1 every two minutes. Those aren’t homes going to regular humans. Those are homes going to investors; they’ll never go back on the market to be accessible for us plebs. They’re permanent rental properties.

While there will be an inevitable crash, it will most likely plateau. These aren’t people with shitty loans like 2008. These are investors with dough to throw around. They’re also people who have a shit ton of equity (unlike 2008) and can use that to buy homes they’ll rent out for supplemental income.

Even if there is a crash, it only matters if you’re looking to sell your house. If you’re staying in the home anyway for a decade, then the value of the house is irrelevant.

So here we are. A kick in the nuts at the sliver of hope I had.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sitting here bawling in misery. My attitude is more like, “Of course somehow Covid will find a way to continuously fuck me over.” It’s only been eighteen fucking months of dealing with this nightmare.

I’m putting down my megaphone and getting off this soapbox. The person behind me who also can’t begin their new life can begin their rant.