A lot of things are happening right now. At work, I’ve been joking that I should change my email signature to “The Fixer” as I’ve been assigned to some of our biggest crisis schools, which is seriously time consuming. (Sidenote: I do not possess crisis school superpowers so mostly I just listen to people cry).

Meanwhile, it’s been the last push on selling my dad’s house, but I’m pleased to say I have accepted an offer and hopefully it will all be wrapped up by early April. The organizer in me has been tracking hours, and topping out at around 140 hours of sheer labor over the last four months. This is not count the hours of those who helped me, or the hellacious amount of time it takes to commute across the bridge to Vancouver. It also does not measure the stress and frustration I experienced throughout the process.

For instance, the day that I sat on the floor for six hours in a frigid, unfurnished bedroom, trying to stay out of the way of the cleaning crew, attempting to create a meaningful presentation for work while also managing the incessant pinging messages from my Offer Up app. As the house was finally empty, there wasn’t even a drinking glass, leaving me to chug water directly from the kitchen facet. When the cleaning crew finished, and I had signed the final forms with the realtor, and the Offer Up people had picked up the last bits of furniture, the garage door came off it’s rails and wouldn’t go down. Was there a ladder to figure out what was wrong? Of course not.

I had a moment where I considered how much I had in savings, and how much fuel was in my gas tank, and how long it would take me to drive to an off-the-grid cabin where no one would ever find me.

Don’t worry. It was just a moment…

In a week, we will be in Europe (on an planned escape), drinking French wine and soaking up the Spanish sun. So when I start flooding your Facebook feed with pictures of my fabulous trip, don’t get annoyed – give me a round of applause instead.

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