I knew blogging would become a form of procrastination.

I should not be sitting here.  I really, really, REALLY should not be sitting here. 

We are putting our house on the market in one week.  We only decided to do so 5 days ago, when the offer we made on another house was accepted.  We're off to the home inspection soon, and we fully expect to proceed with the purchase.

And we have eleven years worth of stuff to deal with.  Those PoS from earlier posts?  Those were gentle waves on a summer day.  The rest of the house is a tsunami.

But I work well under pressure.  Extremely well.  In fact, I'm sort of addicted to the adrenaline rush of meeting a deadline.  Forced choice is an amazing motivator.  I do not have time to carefully sort through all the boxes in the attic that I had thought I would someday.   My choice is pay movers to take it or throw it out/recycle.  And since I hate to pay money for something I'm not confident I need, I'm tossing and recycling and arranging donations.  (Big Brothers/Big Sisters and GotBooks both pick up at the house.  I love those people.  But they are going to hate me when they see the size of the donations.)

The recycling and trash collectors are going to hate me, too.

But my spirit is light and I'm determined to enter our new house bringing only what will serve us in this new phase of life.  I'm letting go of the person I was 15 years ago when I had different passions, a different career, and different goals.  An thus I can let go of the stuff. 

It helps that I'm so freaking exhausted and feel more sleep deprived than I did in those early weeks with a newborn.  Why does that help?  Because I just don't give a rat's ass about pots and pans and knickknacks and old books---it's all going away.  Maybe someday I'll regret not having more than 1 flower vase or 27 coffee mugs.  But I am determined not to, because the desire to be free is strong enough to counter any regret. 

So I really shouldn't be sitting here.  Back to packing and cleaning out. 

Basket Case

A PS to yesterday's blog:  The basket I put together for last night's fundraiser was the first one selected.  That's right, the very first winner chose the basket I put together.

My work there is done.

PPS:  The air condidtioner wasn't working.  The speeches went on way too long.  And the cocktail hour included Ritz crackers, which gives you an idea of the budget for the dinner.  But my basket was chosen first, so it was all ok.

That dream, you know, where your brain says run but your feet don't move.

I have that feeling again.  The one where I know I'm overworked but I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything.  Where I feel full of plans but empty of action.  Where my brain says run and my feet don't move but I'm not standing still.

I don't know what to do.

And the irony is, any choice I make will be FINE.  I know it will.  But I want more than fine.  I want to be excited about the choice and feel it's meant to be.  I haven't had a moment like that in a while and it's getting to me.  I know I stress too much about things that don't really matter.  Like today---I have to get a basket of something together to be one of the raffle prizes at a dinner dance I have to attend tonight.  I have no idea what the target value is and the organizers have been no help.  (Which is a post for another time, because come on, if you are in charge of the event have some freaking idea what you want when you ask people to do something!) 

Last year, I had what I thought it was a kick ass basket and it was the last one chosen.  Well, second to last, but the very last was a collection of wrapping paper that were obviously the samples from the fundraiser company used by that group.  Mine was awesome, and valued at about $100.  It was all high-end arts and crafts and stuff for kids from a la-di-da boutique in town.  But clearly the attendees of the dinner dance weren't interested in stuff for kids, because it was last. 

Anyway, my point is I felt like I made the wrong choice.  I was so excited for this basket, and it was painful to sit through 45 minutes of a raffle of 20 or so items and watch one by one winners look over, and not choose the one I brought.  Although it wasn't a reflection on me--it's not a personal donation, I felt like a loser.   On one hand, I'm determined to do better tonight.  But on the other hand, I don't really care. I'm tired, overworked, starting to not feel well, and have absolutely no desire to smile and mingle and chit chat with the mayor and make nice with a bunch of people who would rather take home cheese wheels and crackers than expensive art stuff.  But we all know that I will.  I'll be charming and gracious and agree that the new parking regulations in the city are necessary despite the general annoyance they have caused.

But it's about choices, and I hate making bad ones.  Last year I thought my choice was A-1 awesome.  And I was wrong.  I clearly didn't know my audience, and that wasn't totally my fault.  But still.

That house that I love is still on the market.  But now it has competition.  The house literally in it's back yard just went on the market today.  We're totally going to the open house this weekend, and on paper it has some of the things we think we want that Dream House #1 doesn't have (like a home office with it's own bathroom!  Private practice, here I come!).  But I feel like I've pledged my allegiance to House #1--the one I walk by and have asked it to wait. And it has.  What happens if we like House #2 better, and actually buy it?  And then House #1 drops in price because it's so sad and we could have had it anyway?

What if we make the wrong choice?  (See how I said "we" this time.  I'm not taking the fall for a wrong choice alone!)

I'm exaggerating, of course.  Well, a little.  Maybe next time I should write about being prone to dramatics.  If I can get my feet to move.

House stalking is probably not the same thing as house hunting, but it does mean exercise.

I've been trying to get back into a regular exercise routine, which means getting out of bed at 5:30-5:45am (breaking my "no alarm should ever sound before 6am" rule).  Some days it takes me nearly 45 mins to get myself dressed and out the door, but I pride myself on at least getting some exercise.  One point isn't four points but it's better than no points, I tell my sleepy self. 

I actually really enjoy the early morning walks (perhaps, one day, to turn into runs).  I like being out in the city when it's quiet, watching it wake up.  I like the alone time.  I like listening to various morning radio shows now that I've figured out how to switch stations on my Nano without activating the live pause feature (or whatever it's called--you know, like a DVR, when you can pause and rewind a live broadcast).

And I like exploring the city. I wander down streets I never have reason to visit any other time in my day, or in my life for that matter.  I discover parks (so that's where the [name of city] Junction is!).  I find neighborhoods I like and neighborhoods I put on the "rule out" list.

But over the past two weeks a certain route has emerged.  Every walk I start by visiting the house I refer to as mine, despite not making an offer to purchase (yet).  It's vacant, so I figure it might be lonely.  I say good morning.  I promise to come back again.  I quietly ask it to wait for me.  I acknowledge it's loneliness and recognize it's desire to have a family again, and I assure it that I'm doing everything I can to be that family.  I explain that we just can't afford it at the price the owners who moved out of state and left it alone decided to list it for, but if it can help me out and not let anyone else move in just yet, I really believe it will all work out. 

I pretend to stretch out a cramp so I have an excuse to pause and linger, and sometimes I really do stretch so I have an excuse to touch the front steps.  I'm still working on a way to go into the driveway so I can say hello to my backyard.  I'm thinking I need to "accidentally" drop my keys.  If I'm running, I could toss them and make it look like they flew out of my hands mid arm swing, right?  That should get them some loft and direction.

And if for some reason my walk doesn't take me past it, I feel guilty.  If more than a day or two passes, I feel like I'm letting the house down.  I worry it will get disappointed and refuse to let me be it's family.  But my house wouldn't hold a grudge, I think.  And it would have faith that I'd keep my word and be back soon.

Part of me really believes that the house will pick me because I am (probably) the only one to visit it so much.

I just hope the neighbors don't report a sunrise stalker.

Anything to motivate the health and fitness section of my Vision Board, right?