My last personal update covered a lot of ground, so you’d be forgiven for not remembering everything or skipping it altogether. Since that post, there hasn’t been a lot going on, but enough to bring y’all up to speed a bit.
As in the last TRD, this was a book that came in one of my Book Riot boxes. I was horrible at keeping up with these, and I cannot remember which one it was to save my life. But I’ve had it hanging around in my TBR pile for awhile now, and I finally dove into it. I tore through it in just four days; I even took it to work one day to read on my lunch break. It’s good, y’all.
Today is an exciting day for us. We’re moving!
It’s also a terrifying day. We’re moving!
Ha. But seriously, this is only my second time putting my life in literal boxes and it’s almost as nerve-wracking as the first time. I lived at home ’til we got married and now we’re moving back into my (grand)parents’ home. We’ll be helping pay for utilities and groceries of course, but they’re gracious enough not to charge us rent (though, can I say that makes me uncomfortable? I know they don’t mind but I don’t like feeling like a moocher.). I’m nervous about the move not because we don’t all get along (we do), but because things are different now. Sure, it’s still their house and their rules, and I respect that, but Kris and I have built our own home with our own rules and routines, and it’s going to be strange getting used to sharing those things with someone else.
Plus, everything is more
terrifying exciting when you have an anxiety disorder. Suddenly, you’re not just packing your dishes in a storage unit, you’re trusting your life’s treasures to a metal box that suddenly feels really far away and how are you supposed to know no one will get in there and these are your good dishes and what if they break despite the ten feet of foam paper and bubble wrap, and how are you just supposed to leave your books packed up for months? Your books! And what if we really need this thing we haven’t used in three years and it’s all the way in storage in this box in the back, and —
It’s exhausting. Not just for me, but for Kris, too. I’m sure he’s tired of hearing the same senseless worries. And granted, it’s probably not silly to worry someone might break into your storage unit. It probably is silly to think they’ll break in and steal only my boxes of books.
In the moments of clarity, I’m able to step back and acknowledge that there really isn’t much left to do. We still have another week before the house is officially on the market (a perk of being able to move out before listing) so we only need to pack and move our essentials for now. We have time to make a few last minute updates, stage the home, sort things for the Great Moving Sale of 2015, and do a deep-clean, which I can honestly say is probably going to be my least favorite part. I am a messy creature. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Outwardly I think I’m doing a good job of appearing to maintain my sanity. Inwardly, I feel like a hummingbird, zipping to and fro: but we have to clean this, we need to paint here, why isn’t the grass growing in this spot, why is it growing too fast in this spot, should we leave the herb garden or no, is anyone even going to like our house — which is, you may notice, an extension of “is anyone going to like me.” I’m struggling to detach myself from our home, thinking if someone doesn’t like something about the house, it’s a judgment of us and the quality or quantity of work we’ve done to it.
Of course that’s not true, but with anxiety disorders, lack of truth in a thought doesn’t stop you from thinking it.
So I’m excited about this. I’m trying to focus on the fun parts of it, like staging the house and showing it to potential buyers. (Yes, we’re selling it on our own.) And I’m trying to remember that our historic little haunted house isn’t perfect — but neither am I, and the right person found me and fell in love even with the ghosts and the cracks in the walls.