Finally.

I'm back on the wagon. Finally. FINALLY!! I have waited and waited and waited for my Interpol check to come. And it finally did. I submitted it in March. Waited. Waited. Wondered, "What the heck?" Waited. Check the website. It claims processing times upwards of 120 days. Waited. Called. Talked to an automated voice. Tried to convince robot to let me speak to a person. Gave up. Waited. Had a fit. Emailed. Waited. Eventually got the response, "Sorry, who are you? Name and DOB, please." Waited. Got a response: "Your Interpol check was processed in March, and returned to sender. Give us a new address and we'll send it." WHAT THE JUNK???! Returned to sender and then it sat for half a year in a pile of dead mail. So. Dang. Frustrating. The address was right even. Street address as opposed to PO Box though. But still returned, because even in a town of 2000 where I can walk into the post office and the gals there know me by name and box number without even looking, they couldn't be bothered to correct the problem. And to add insult to injury, they new I was waiting. I've been chatting with them about it for years as the process went along. An honest mistake? A passive-aggressive jab? Probably the former, but truly, I'm so raw right now that it's hard not to take it personally.
I gave up my teaching position for the year and moved to Edmonton, in anticipation of my adoption being completed. Was worried I'd need to go back to the drawing board with a new home study. Found out some good news for the first time in a long time: unnecessary. Hallelujah. It's a one-year leave as opposed to a resignation, so that worked out well.
So now my poop is officially in a group. Papers notarized and in order. Getting couriered off to Toronto today.
I don't know how to feel about this whole thing anymore. I was so pumped for so long. And even in the downs, I was ever-hopeful that sometime it would work. Well, except those few weeks following the bankruptcy. I was determined to be the optimist. But my someday girl somehow turned into a maybe girl and then a who-knows-what girl? It felt unreal. And impossible. Or at least improbable. But last week after getting papers notarized, I actually was able to think of her as real. When I prayed for her, she wasn't my hypothetical girl. She was again my someday girl. And I choose to think she's my soon-day girl. She's coming. Thank goodness. Cause I'm not sure how much longer I can endure.