I actually considered writing "breathe" on my list of things to do

I know we do this to ourselves. I know it's all our fault, but that doesn't mean that my chest isn't tightening and my mind isn't a blur with fear, anxiety and excitement.

What were we thinking planning a vacation, preparing our house to be sold, seriously starting a house hunt and squeezing in a weekend fiber event all in the next few weeks. And I must have been high on Mr. Clean to schedule our realtor appointment this week. Oh, and in between, Cynical will turn 35. Happy birthday, my love, carry this box of high school love letters to the car.

Last night we began making a dent in our over-crowded basement. Today Cynical rented a storage facility and is hauling a load or two. Tonight I'll tackle the camping equipment, make a decision about the Pez dispensers (and settle on solutions for about 1,000 other similiar quandries) and hopefully we'll be on our way to making the house presentable for the realtor. Making it attractive to prospective buyers, that will come in time. That leaves overcrowded closets and pantries. (Don't go shaking your finger at us, we have two closets in our whole house, both of which are large enough to hide a body. . . and nothing else, not even the corpse's shoes, never mind if he or she has an up-do.)

Funny thing is that I'm not particularly worried about the money aspect, or selling the house. I'm worried about all of the logistics of getting this house ready for sale.

Oh, and the house blessing party guest list. . . for a house we don't even own or have stepped inside for that matter.