I haven’t written; I’ve hardly visited anyone; I’ve got
writing group stuff I need to read. I
feel the kind of guilt you feel like when you sign up for one of those pen pal
programs in elementary school and your pen pal from a distant land writes immediately, and
you write them back and you promise to send a picture, and you actually really
like your pen pal but still… you never write them again (even though they
faithfully wrote a few letters before giving up). It’s that guilt that kind of lingers in the
back of your head while you’re eating ice cream. You’re enjoying yourself too much to get up
but vaguely you wonder, did I feed the cat like mom told me to? Kid-guilty, man.
Except… except… we’ve been REALLY busy!
The thing I forgot is that even though this is the second
time Keen and I are buying a house, this will be the first time that we’re
SELLING one. This last week has been
spent packing up as much non-essential household goods as possible to make the
house show-worthy. And… we’ve got a lot
of crap. I think more than the usual
amount of stuff that people collect. (But, you know, not at Clean Sweep
levels or anything.) Lots of books, CDs,
breakables, electronic toys and appliances, not to mention Chance’s things. We’ve been in a small house with very few
closets for a few years and we are overflowing.
Anyway. We’re aiming
for next weekend for our first open house. It’s such a fine line between living in a house and staging it to show…
the vintage teacups stay out, the Futurama
DVDs get packed away. Tomorrow the
cleaners come. After that touch-up paint
I’m pooped. I’m not even sure what the date is. I don’t even think I’m within a three-day
window guess of the date. Right at this
moment I could use both a cup of tea and Bender’s witticisms, thanks.
This week should be better. I hope. (I promise not to be so consumed
I give you a play-by-play of our moving.)
Read you soon. – wg