God has me where I’m supposed to be. Right?

So, My Guy and I put our houses on the market the first full week of July.

Have you seen all the news stories about how we’re currently in the very worst real estate market ever in the history of houses?

Dude. It is totally true.

My Guy has had four showings in those two and a half months. I have had two showings.

The jokes about how someday we might live together are starting to get a little old. And I feel guilty about the twinge of desperation that I feel. I want to put positive energy into the universe: Yes, our houses will find the buyers who want them! Yes, we will be paid fairly for these homes! Yes, we will be exactly where we are supposed to be!

But I can’t help but be a bit discouraged.

We’ve dropped the prices. We’ve even been making our beds every single day, for the love of Ray J!

I even turned to The Lord’s Realtor. I ordered St. Joseph statues. Evidently, he is the patron saint of carpenters and real estate. You’re supposed to say a prayer and bury him head down, facing the street. According to the brochure that came with our St. Joseph statues, he’s “The Underground Real Estate Agent(tm).”

My Guy buried his as soon as it came in. Mine? Well, I was busy and didn’t get to it immediately. However, this showed how truly sacred my mom’s Catholic upbringing is.

When I told her I hadn’t yet buried my Underground Real Estate Agent(tm), she had words. Harsh words.

“Dammit, girl! Get out there and bury the damned thing!”

Ahem. So I did. And … nothing. Perhaps in addition to selling my home, St. Joseph is also trying to teach me patience.

I’m at a bit of a loss. Any words of wisdom? Anybody want a really cute little house with a main-floor laundry and granite in the kitchen?