I’m not going to lie…Things are a little crazy at the moment. Trying to buy a new, very old house and sell our current one has been stressful. I am a walking, or rather flailing disaster. I’m breaking out like a teenager. My stomach is churning. The other day I tried to relieve some tension by doing some step ups during my lunch hour. I missed the step and crashed backward into my desk – ripping my silk blouse and creating a vivid red, black, and greenish blue map of my anxiety on my back and backside. Yesterday, I somehow managed to jab my temple with my car keys, missing my eyeball by a half inch or so.

The thoughts running through my head tend to be cruel and taunting –

Are you freaking insane? Why yes, yes I AM. 

You’re going to let that beautiful old house go to hell in a hand basket with your slovenly ways and your complete lack of home savvy.

Pshhhht! Who do you think you are…Martha Stewart?!

We just had a very thorough six hour home inspection that lasted from 8:30 to 2:30. The report left me reeling…There’s a lot to fix, not to mention a dead animal or two to find and remove.

But look!

I was convinced there were hearts hidden in the doorknob to the front door:

Here’s hoping everything works out, (we’re still not at all sure that it will), and that I don’t manage to skewer my eyeball, end up in traction, or land myself in a psychiatric ward before we get to closing.