We’ve got about one week for Something To Happen before I enter panic mode, re: the housing situation. The movers are coming in one month. One. Month.
If we make an offer on a house in this next week, we could close before my stuff shows up and needs to be left at that van down by the river.
I am, of course, dealing with this information by:
1) Not packing.
2) Not mowing the
dandelion fields grass.
3) Working into the wee hours every night.
4) Shopping for shoes online.
5) Trying to find a cheap last-minute ticket to get down to Georgia this weekend to see my husband and also maybe look at some more houses.
But it was tonight at choir rehearsal when I opened the card they all gave me that it really hit me. I am moving away. I mean, that thing was FULL of kind words and well-wishes. Anyone who tells you church choirs are all sweetness and light has never been in one; I am accustomed to being tormented mercilessly in there. All that NICE can only mean I’m dying or moving.
I feel okay, so I guess I’m really leaving.