 It was 5:30 a.m. and I lay there mentally preparing for battle. I knew this time was coming but I'd put it off in my mind...one more day won't matter...it's somehow gonna all come together in the end, down around the 11th hour. I thrust one foot (in great need of a pedicure) over the edge of the bed and pulled my tired body up and stood. It was a victory just standing because it was not my normal getting-out-of-bed stance; it was the stance of a warrior. This is the day. It's happening today. I must start packing. We are closing on the sale of #our1892adventure in less than one week, and not the first box has been loaded, let alone sealed, labeled or sent down the conveyor belt to its new destination (and who knows where that is?). I am the most blessed woman on earth, even though sometimes I don't act like it. And you know I'm blessed if you read my random and (lately) very inconsistent blog entries. But I gotta be completely honest. This past week has been one of the hardest of my life. I won't bore you with any details because they are painful, ugly, and completely un-newsworthy. But here's the part that is newsworthy. I have made it through this week from hell and one day, somewhere down the road in a quiet moment of truth and self-reflection, I will realize that this week made me a better person. A stronger person. A person more well-equipped to deal with life and everything life has a tendency to throw my way, leaving me as vulnerable as a granny standing naked on stage in front of 10,000 people. The thought of that alone could slay me right now as I sit here talking to you about my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week. Why is it that when you're on the final leg of something good and you've been waiting, about to cross the finish line, that the monster of regrets, guilt, and negative self-worth comes to your door knocking, and you (like a fool) open that door and invite the monster in (unknowingly, but still...). You entertain him to stay awhile, have a cup of tea, spend the night in the guest bedroom. You gladly serve him for days before you realize the scoundrel is trying to steal the joy and satisfaction of reveling in what you've been able to accomplish like a boss. I'm sure you can relate to this scenario. You're on the last leg of your well-trained-for marathon when you trip and fall, spraining an ankle, and are not able to cross the finish line. You've prepared long and hard for the test you need to ace in reaching a milestone in your career when you come down with the stomach flu and can't get out of bed (except to puke), and the test gets pushed to the back burner for another year. You work long and hard for a payday and, before you can get it, that monster has tried to rob you of all the satisfaction and joy of receiving the reward for which you've worked so diligently, sweating, fretting, and occasionally uttering the random curse word (spoken in a moment of sheer frustration for the 100th problem you've encountered in a day). I'll tell you why it is. It's life. Life is hard. It can be gut-wrenching. But somehow in the midst of it all, most of us manage to pull through, survive, even renew and be better. For me, knowing I'm not alone in the battle is the war at least half won. I am blessed to have friends and family who believe in me and keep telling me that (and eventually it sinks into my brain). They tell me I am worth it and worthy of love and worthy of success and worthy of joy and happiness and good things. They push me along, shouting from the sidelines that I'll make it one more time over this new and scarier hurdle. They sit with me in the dark hours as I spill my rubbish upon them, all of the nasty, stinky garbage of regret and lack and self-loathing. Heck, I'm convinced they'd stuff me into a little red wagon and drag me along behind them if they knew it'd help me out of the miry pit. I am blessed because I am loved and, even though I've already had at least two-million-and-two pity parties since the new year began, I am never alone and those folks -- those angels in disguise -- are my heroes. Once again, you have put on your valiant cape, suited up for battle, and followed me into the trenches. And for that, I am beyond grateful and I will never be able to repay you. As we close another chapter in our renovation story, I have no idea what is next. I have moved 10 times in 10 years and I'm tired. I'm not only tired, but I'm getting old! My greatest ambition right now is to get those boxes packed, transferred to some still-undisclosed location, and sink into a fluffy hotel pillow somewhere down the road and not leave the room for about a week. Right now even the thought of buying a fixer-upper slap wears me down but I know that's just temporary because apparently I have it in my blood. Also, did I mention I need rest? A month on the beach might do the trick, and then I might be ready to go again. No matter how much I say I WILL NOT do it again, I know I will. All it takes is the right house at the right price and, bam!! -- I begin salivating with the juices of creativity and I know it's just a matter of time. After all, I am a self-professed rehab addict (and possible crazy woman) I do believe. And to #our1892adventure, may I say this: You are truly a bittersweet friend, soon to be a bittersweet memory. There were times when I thought you would most definitely be the end of me. I thought for sure you were gonna be my certain death and, if not the death of me, the death of my marriage or my sanity. But seeing how I try to be a half-glass-full type of gal, one thing is a given...I will never, ever forget you and the valuable lessons you have taught me. They are and will forever down the road be priceless. (Please, please, please keep telling me this forever and always and I just might make it...) Looking back on some of my favorite things about #our1892renovation...
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