The struggle to remove ourselves from our home without actually moving out continues. There is much progress and one can cross several rooms relatively unimpeded. However, I have run out of steam. There isn't enough caffeine in the world to make me WANT to pick up the vacuum again.
Oh, I will pick it up, and I will turn it on, and I will even shove it in desultory fashion toward little flecks of paper on the carpet. I just don't want to. There is a difference.
Of course, if I didn't do that, I wouldn't be doing anything else worthwhile. Right now, endless games of Solitaire seem highly attractive. Laying in bed watching my Jonny Quest DVDs for the umpteenth time would be heavenly. Maybe watching all the Mythbusters episodes I've recorded would suit this rainy, steamy day.
But none of that, as fulfilling and intellectually challenging as they may be, will get this house ready "to show". Oh, we are close, in many ways, but we ain't there yet. Still so many things to be packed, to be cleaned, to be hidden or rearranged in artistic "no one really lives here, but it sort of looks like someone might" ways. The rooms of my house, the familiar, comforting rooms, now seem rather cold and strange, empty and neutral.
And clean. Almost scrupulously clean. This alone is frightening. We have not thrown this much effort into cleaning the house since the second year of our marriage, when MIL was due down for Christmas and we did weeks of panic cleaning.
I'm trying to work up a little panic now, but it ain't happenin'.
In other news, I've found a new place to happily waste time now that most of my books are boxed and in the garage. www.goodreads.com is, as one friend put it, "Like Facebook for [book]geeks." Take a look. If you'd like an invitation, let me know. I may have already sent you one and you ignored it or your spam filter ate it. EVERYONE should be wasting as much time there as I am.