So much to do, such a small amount of time. The reality of moving has set in.
Selling one’s house is a major chore. We’re trying to get everything done in six weeks. Among “everything” is replacing our front door, replacing four columns on the front porch, possibly dry walling our ceilings, scraping/sanding/painting our front porch, making a door for the door-less potting shed, re-laying gravel in our little parking area, and the list goes on and on.
It's work just trying to become unattached to this little house we adore. And this little neighborhood we've come to love. Neighbors we know and like. (Of course there are those whom we are happy to get away from!)
A signal that there will be light at the end of the tunnel is that the houses on our street do not tend to stay on the market for very long – two weeks, maybe a month. Let’s hope we’re not the exception. Because the sooner our house sells, the sooner c. can quit his job and the two of us can head into the western sunset…Where we still need to find a place to live and where c. still needs to find a job. [EDIT: Where my fiction-writing career will begin and where c. will begin working at an architecture firm that truly suits him.]
All of this, in the midst of being very exciting, is slightly. No, incredibly. Overwhelming. Forgive me if my story-telling skills are not at their best in the next few months.
SONG: Changes, David Bowie