Halcyon evening

We busted our butts, and I think it was worth it. The real estate agent came by tonight to take photos/footage. (I wasn't home at the time, or I would have snarked, "The house is ready for its close-up, Mr. DeMille!" which would probably have earned me a scowl or blank looks--either one deserved.) Dearest, however, reports that she was pleased, judging by her "You guys have been busy!" comment.

Such ridiculousness, this charade of living in a dollhouse while it's liable to be looked at. But if that's what tips the balance in a buyer's mind, I refuse to feel like a fraud: "Never tell the truth to anyone not worthy of it." Or something like that.

Still so much to do...but right now I'm savoring the milestone...and the illusion that it's all a downhill coast from here--with sun and flower-scented breeze at our backs, no less. Now to bed, and, hopefully a smidgeon of decompression/healing.

Forward momentum

There's just something inexpressibly sad about packing up books. It's like telling friends that you don't have time for them right now, and honestly don't know when you'll be able to get together with them. Packing the dollhouse I've had since grade school is a bit rough too--that's become a de facto symbol of having roots in the ground.

I'm not sniveling, mind you. Not in the wake of taping up U-Haul boxes a week ago with nothing less than fierce joy. The pace of this week will be nothing short of grueling--with Dearest bearing more of the brunt of it than I. Then again, pound-for-pound, working for me and mine always spices the exhaustion with exhilaration.

Another inch

Dearest & I signed the contract today to put the house up for sale next month.

Now, were I George W. Bush, I'd put on a flight suit and slap myself on the back under a big ol' "Mission Accomplished" banner. But I'm too busy semi-freaking that we have but couple weeks for a freakin' lot of work to make the place "HGTV-ready" (to quote the broker's semi-sarcastic term.) Once upon a couple incarnations ago, I would have scoffed at pretending that we don't actually live there. But that was before I learned that no one deserves the truth they're not willing to see/hear.

Now, if the Legislative and Executive branches could be considerate enough to not trash the economy and the value of the American dollar in the meantime, I'd be most obliged. I feel like I've already tapped out my lifetime ration of luck with this whole venture, and that the Gods will not be appeased by my offering of sweat and fret.

Another baby step

The first real estate agent (of two scheduled thus far) is coming to look at the place tonight. Dearest has been doing the heavy lifting--literally and figuratively--on schlepping the extraneous stuff off to storage-exile. So much clutter still left to go--what happens when two pack-rats with weird hobbies park under the same roof for nearly a decade.

But incremental progress is progress nevertheless. Being the ex-Physics major, I can smirk all nerdy-hipster smugly and remind myself that velocity, not acceleration, is a part of the formula.

Two down, three to go

The boss-man doesn't have a problem w/having another remote office, although I know from past experience, I've edged myself closer to the chopping block for the next downturn. Was planning to do some serious professional networking once we've landed at our next address anyway.

Had brekky with Dad this morning & gave him the heads-up with the proviso that Mom is not to know until a little of the dust in her life has settled. P.'s not due into town until next month...if then. Best Friend will be the hardest...if I don't start losing it during that, it'll be a miracle.

I feel like I'm hectoring Dearest on the home renovation schedule--I hate that feeling. Couldn't shake that feeling all through crashing out the moving "inventory" for landing, and should have known better than to think I could kiss it goodbye until moving time. Gack.

Next up: Carpet/Linoleum shopping. An ideal couple-building exercise, to be sure... [eyeroll]

One from the Dept. of Small Mercies

Immediate family has been cranking me off a lot lately. Mostly in the sense that I feel like I'm kept outside the loop even when I'm supposed to be in it. Which is enough fodder for crankiness. But this being pushed to the outside of the herd makes it that much more tempting to think that Dad might have actually had a right opinion or two all these years. Fortunately, all I have to do is remember that, even if he did, he did f***-all about it.

But in the grand scheme of things--in this case meaning my life--it does considerably ease the guilt of not sticking around. If the fact that there's no such thing as unlimited, unconditional love from me makes me a bad person...so be it. You might be, in some cases, less obvious about looking at me as the family moneybags. Or--in other cases--bother to live by the "values" into which I was indoctrinated. Or--in all cases--acknowledge that the lessons of the past apply to you.

In one sense, it's liberating to write that. But mostly it's just pathetic. Why? Because it took me so effing long to stop fooling myself that nearly anyone can change, given the right mix of incentives. And that's because the first step is self-awareness--something this branch of the family tree seems to be pretty thin on. Myself included.

Done...and done

Belated post by nearly a month...but on a blog that's been shamefully neglected for closing on a year and a half, it's proverbial coals to Newcastle.

Long-excuse-short, The Gods do, sometimes, look out for fools. This one in particular. Again. Go figure. We're officially permanent residents, with paperwork and everything. Although we need to...you know...actually relocate now. (In all honesty, though, I can't stop myself from envisioning the scenario where we apply for the PR card and then learn that the nice CIC/border agent--with the gorgeously Gallic nose--missed something during the "landing" process, and, well, too bad for us: Do not pass "Go"; do not collect $200.)

It's still largely a secret. Oddly, my (non-Dearest) best friends don't know. Dropping the bomb on Mom has been postponed b/c she's already lost one of her "babies." I don't think Dad--to whom I had to go for certain familial details for the application really takes it seriously. But we've been a full time zone apart since 1979, so what's another time zone, really?

The Office Illuminati d--n sho' don't know. Normally, I'd let the chips fall where they may--"Short-timer's Syndrome" is already setting in. But information is power. And not much insight has been coming my way lately, so I indulge a certain semi-spiteful payback in kind. It won't last much longer, though: It's just not sustainable.

In the meantime, I'm trying to cultivate an ethic of trying to accomplish one thing toward the goal of moving per day. That's not going so well, but the dust is already settling re: recent "extracurriculars," both planned and not. With each little inch forward, though, I can feel the sense of adventure rising, and that's a feeling I wouldn't mind developing an addiction to.