A great insult that I will probably never get to say.

I heard it at Bar None last night. "The proctologist called. He found your head." I know someone who richly deserves to hear it.

I am quietly livid this evening. Coughing so hard I can feel it in my ankles. (So, maybe NOT so quietly livid.) Tired from being up too late last night. And twelve kinds of sick and tired. The penultimate piece of paperwork is on its way to my attorney. The last piece is being held up for reasons I do not comprehend.

I have deputized one of his siblings to reemphasize the message I sent to all three of them earlier this week. I want the signed paperwork no later than Sunday evening after church. That gives him tomorrow morning to get the fresh copy that I left with his wife last Saturday, notarized at the bank.

I am hoping that his brother will be able to exercise moral suasion on him. I texted the holdout on Wednesday and requested a response. I sent him a message on FB requesting him to respond. He read that Thursday morning at 12:21. No response.

I absolutely believe his wife, that she saw a signed, notarized deed which went out the door with her husband. I do not necessarily believe that he mailed it.

And while I wait to see if the sibling is successful, I am steadily braiding my whip.

Not a lot of knit happened today. Taking a dose of Hydrocodone cough syrup and calling it a night.