I wanna be a little kid again with no problems other than people teasing me about having brown skin. Fuck all this finance shit!

So here's the deal about why I've been so stressed. The PhD and lack
of examiners is the least of my worries right now!

First of all, we own two investment apartments and we were buying a
house. We did all the right things and saw a number of mortgage
brokers and banks and settled on someone who had dealt with my aunt's
loan in the past with no problems. Nice guy. It'll be fine, right?

Wrong. You see, he sent us a letter saying that we were pre-approved
for a certain amount, we went out, found a lovely house which was
under that amount, signed the contract and opted to use a deposit bond
which was supposed to be given to the vendors on that day. The broker
said he'd arrange for it to be ready within 48hours.

Two weeks later and it's still not done. There's all these problems
with the loan - a new one every freaking day - and the brokers turns
out to be (sorry NWJR, I know you hate this word but I can't think of
another and too enraged to bother) completely, fucking, financially
retarded.

So here's me going loopy.

We still haven't paid our deposit, the solicitors at each end are
really mad at us, I'm more stressed than ever, and I'm worried about
hubby being under stress because there's no way we want something this
stupid to trigger a recurrance of his cancer.

Anyway, we're now working with a guy who takes care of my parent's
loans. I saw him this morning and he said the only option if we want
to buy this house would be to sell one of our apartments. After being
extremely mad that we'd been put in this situation (we'd rather have
not bought a house yet if we have to sell an apartment), we figured
that we wont really make a loss, and yeah, we'll have our own house
with the big backyard and pool in the leafy suburbs.

So, at that point, the stress levels went down to the point where I
didn't feel like throwing up all the time. (So yes, Kira, I know that
feeling.) But he also said he'd call back after lunch and have it all
sorted.

It's now almost 5pm. End of the work day. He's not answering his
phone. Which could mean:
1. He died.
2. Somethings gone wrong and he's trying to fix it before returning my call.
3. He's just as incompetant as the other fucker.

Die! Die! Die!

I hate this shit.