...as StrongOpinions would say.
The basement is a toxic zone from the smell of the newly installed carpets. That, of course, is where my at-home office is, so I can't use it unless I want to fall over unconscious. Of course, somehow the carpet guys managed to mess up my phone line down there, so I can't use the computer down there anyway.
I brought another carload of assorted household detritus to the storage space this morning. I have probably one or two more loads to go. There are a couple more little things I need to do to make the house ready for the Broker's Open House on Tuesday, and PH has a number of things he should do that are beyond my ken. I will put my hip boots on and go into StrongOpinions' room in a few minutes, to make it showable.
I know I'm in the home stretch on the prep work, and the realtor thinks it will sell in one weekend, and PH and I are having a cool mini-vacation - a reward from my employer for outstanding work last year - in Wyoming right before Memorial Day, and we're in good shape financially. Why, then, do I feel so discombobulated? Just pre-move, pre-seminary panic attack?
In the past three weeks I've packed over 150 boxes, painted the garage and shed and back doors, painted the back wall of the house, reorganized and weeded out the closets, dealt with various and sundry tradesmen including piano movers, regular movers, carpeters and window washers, baked for the Rector's anniversary celebration, baked for the Women's Bible Study breakfast, made birthday strawberry shortcake for StrongOpinions, finished my John the Baptist icon, organized our camping stuff for the family campout over July 4th in Michigan, met with my Bishop and got approved for postulancy, coordinated plans for StrongOpinions' college experience with my ex, cleaned out two refrigerators, moved stuff for the church yard sale to a friend's garage. I've also attended a conference in Florida and done my regular work, although I'm on a light schedule this week because of sporadic jury duty. I've also taken StrongOpinions shopping, which was actually fun, and taken her for her tattoo, which was less fun, but not as bad as I thought.
Sorry I'm whining.
Remind me I asked for this.
I'm feeling like all my protective old layers of my life have been peeled away, and the newly exposed skin is very tender indeed.