Disappointment

Disappointment.

The kind that sends your stomach to the ground and your eyes to the heavens. The kind that makes you listless and tired and hopeless.

Disappointment. Unrelenting disappointment, as the Proverb says. The kind that makes your heart sick.

I battled it this week, after the offer we got for our house came in at half the asking price.

Our real estate agent, who pleaded for us not to see the offer as an insult, says in this economy, everyone's looking for a bargain. I think it also has to do with the fact that we're selling a "high-end" home in a small town; the culture is so different, I'm not even sure I can explain it. Consider that this is the fifth house we've bought and sought to sell, yet never before have we battled town gossip about why we are selling our house or why we settled on "such a high price." (Answer: Because that's what we owe the bank.)

But whatever the reason, when it became apparent Tuesday morning that we would continue to own two homes for the time being, I found myself sinking into the slough of despair. I was actually surprised at how quickly I slid from expectant to despondent.

Disheartened.

Discouraged.

Frustrated.

Faithless.

Of course, it didn't help that the last month as been draining. The kids have been uncharacteristically whiny and picky. The baby keeps forgetting how to nap. The husband has to travel and study and speak at conferences.

I felt like an ocean swimmer who is battling a series of waves. Each one rolls toward me and -- slap! -- I'm left with eyes that sting and a mouth full of salt water. As soon as I catch my breath -- slap! -- here comes another. And another. And another.

Tuesday, I lost the energy to keep swimming.

(Story continued tomorrow.)