Well, it's over friends.
(At least I think/hope it is.)
Our realtor came over and took pictures of the house this morning and soon everyone on the interwebs can see what I've been doing all these weeks. Really, it's been months since we began this project, but the biggest push (and the inception of this blog) can only be measured in weeks.
I don't have to paint anymore. Which is great, because over the weekend I threw away 3 of my 6 paint brushes because I neglected to care for them properly. Kind of an apt analogy for my life right now.
I spent this Mother's Day weekend busting my butt to get the house ready for this morning's photo shoot. I spent more time on a ladder (and accidentally splattered more paint) than I have since... well, since last weekend. But whatever.
My right arm aches from hours of brush-stroking my hallway walls after I discovered that a paint roller made the base coat of what I'm guessing might be pre-1950's milk paint chip off like cheap nail polish. It's a long and tall hallway, y'all, with a wall that extends up the stairs. My arm aches.
But, I gave the remainder of my 5 gallon bucket of hallway (and supposed to be for 2 other rooms which we're now not painting) paint to a friend today, so it's over.
Have I ever mentioned that I am extremely impatient? My phone and computer probably hate me because I've been refreshing Realtor.com so often, checking to see if my listing is live. As of 8:08pm, EST, it is not.
Which makes it even more illogical that I have also been waiting all day for realtors to call me, asking to show my house. Hint: they didn't. Because they can't see it yet.
My legs are covered with bruises from encounters with ladders, furniture, and tools this weekend. I'm not caring for myself well, physically (don't ask about the huge second-degree burn on my forearm from a coffee spill last week) just like I have not been caring for my paint brushes.
I had a really crappy Mother's Day. My air compressor stopped working (this is a really weird thing to start the crappiness of a day, but I never claimed to be predictable). The deck of the riding lawnmower was off-kilter which apparently my 16 year-old mower told be about the last time he mowed bit I forgot, so the 2 weeks' growth of grass loomed large in my yard. My husband was 950 miles away and no one thought to pamper me on what is supposed to be at least one day out of 365 that I am treated like the princess I secretly am. And I was just. so. tired. Weary to the bone, but driven by the perfect image of how I wanted my home to appear in its listing.
I cried, last night, as I drove to Tropical Smoothie Cafe to buy myself dinner at 6:30pm because no one offered to cook for me or suggested that we go out to eat. I took a bath after I finished painting last night and watched an episode of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt which I don't quite like but for some reason am compelled to keep watching. And I took the entire day off work today to do my part in getting my house listed (my part, admittedly, ended before 11am but my youngest ended up staying home, sick, today so I didn't even get to chill alone.)
Still, life goes on. The fate of my house is now out of my hands. In addition to being an impatient perfectionist, I'm also a bit of a control freak so the whole process of letting go is really hard for me.
But I'm doing it. Bruises, heartache, and all.
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