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I canNOT seem to get motivated. I have too much to do, and the lists are so daunting that I haven’t done anything, really, in the last two days. Been catching up on sleep. Have been spinning. (I’m making a sweater out of handspun and I ran out, so I really needed to do production spinning.)

When I was sick last week, I didn’t clean the house. There is still a pile of kleenex next to my side of the bed, and the stack of dirty clothes is making me crazy. I look around the house and think PACK! Get boxes! (Anyone got any boxes?) PACK, for the love of Christ!

But ohmygod, are we really moving? Will they really give us a house? How can we pack when we don’t know that for sure? I hate the fear behind the word "escrow" even though I love having the ability to be in it. Well, hell. I suppose if I totally pack, and the bottom falls out, then I can unpack and know where everything is.
Packing. Sigh. I love unpacking.

All this talk about packing has got me thinking about other things, and I’m cracking myself up. Ahem. (Did anyone else see Jon Stewart the other night, with his discussion of the political taint? Heh.)

Also: The wedding planning. ACKKKKK. Every time I start to get serious about doing something for the move, I open the computer and start to think about things for the wedding. Note that I didn’t say I start to DO things for the wedding, because I don’t. I go online, look at invitations, and then close the computer, overwhelmed.

Here are the things I know I need to do:

Order invitations

Order white lights to decorate

Order linens

Do I need to rent glassware? I’m thinking plastic, yo. My peeps are humble stock.

Oh, the list goes on. I can’t think of it all right now. You who know this stuff: We have the hall, we have the band, we need the photographer and the invitations, we have the food/drink worked out if sketchy. What the hell am I forgetting that needs to be done right now, three months to go?

Oh, besides the dress. Shut up. Smart ass. I’m working on it! (The skirt is done — yippee!.) And what about the veil? And the shoes.

MOVING! See how I work my way away from packing? Erg.
It’s all good, though. Really good.

I was at the bank yesterday, making a deposit. After three and a half months, direct deposit has still not kicked in at the new job, so I end up carrying the paychecks around the bottom of my purse until I manage to get to the bank every once in a while.

Hey! While I’m there, I can get cash! Yay, cash!

Withdrawal from checking: $60.00

Whirrrr. The money spits out. I touch it. Whirrr. The machine SUCKS the money back in.

Neener, neener, neener. Wasn’t that pretty? Wasn’t that money nice? Wouldn’t you have liked that burrito you could have bought if there had been money in your pocket? No! You can’t have it! You’re not a good enough person to have our money! We’ve changed our minds!

I went in the bank and told a customer service rep. She said, get this, "Oh, yeah, that machine does that."

Hello? Fix the machine? Money is important, especially when the tummy is rumbly….. It was slightly horrifying. That’s what you always wonder will happen
when taking out large amounts (or is it just me?), and then it did. Goodbye, sweet cash….

I just now called the bank, and they’re going to credit my account, but that’s still not very well cash, is it? Man, I think I’m hungry, because now all I can think about is that burrito.

On my way to work, but I just wanted to tell you: Yesterday Lala and I took a little spy-walk in the neighborhood and walked by the house. There had been an open house planned for the weekend. So, leaned up against the front gate was the realtor’s open house signboard with a handlettered sign that read: "Open House Cancelled. Sale Pending."

We plotzed. That’s US. WE’RE the pending.

How are you going to handle me like this until February 10th? (That’s the hoped-for close of escrow date. I hope I hope I hope I hope…..)

https://rachaelherron.com/on_my_way_to_wo/

Holy shit! They accepted our offer. Did I tell you? No, I didn’t. We found aNOTHER perfect house (and Lala, who has grand, mighty big trust in me is taking my word for this, since she couldn’t make the viewing due to work), and made an offer, and they accepted it. It WAS on Friday the 13th, which for my family is a very lucky, good day, and the door was opened for me by Davis, my realtor’s brother — he opened the door of my condo for me the first time, and I felt the same way then, that I would live there and be happy there. It felt right. Like home.

Of course, this means that it has to make it through escrow. Ack. Yeah. And I couldn’t sleep last night, convinced that we weren’t going to be able to afford it. (We did the math in the morning and we can, if we drink cheap beer and eat beans.)

But it’s sweet and it’s yellow and it has three bedrooms (yay!) and a fireplace and a yard and a creek and a glassed-in front porch. If someone took a marker to the Thomas Guide and drew a line that delineated the border between the golf links and the drug dealers, we would land RIGHT on that line. It’s spittin’ distance to richey-rich, but a block up is a kinda sketchy. The street itself is lovely, a culdesac of sweet little well-maintained homes with nice cars in front. No bars on the windows. And did I mention that it’s right at the top of our price range? Yeah? I did? Tappitty tappity tappity tap, drum my nervous fingers on anything within reach.

Well, as Celia and Nancy said today at the knit-out, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. We’re SUPPOSED to be terrified. That’s natural. Do you have ANY idea how much better that made me feel? A lot. A whole hell of a lot. Seriously. Can you say that to me a bunch more? The mortgage always gets paid, right? The cell phone bill? Sure, let’s hope so. But the mortgage will get paid. Both mortgages, since I’m going to keep the condo and rent it out.

ACK!!!!!!!!!

The stress level just shot up again. Nancy said, to that bit, "That’s the smartest thing you can do. Of all the regrets we hear, isn’t the most common one that we hear is that they sold that piece of property they should have held onto, years ago….."

God bless her. And all the knit-out-ists that showed up today. How fun it was! A ton of people showed up, more than I ever expected, and we basically took the cafe over. At one point one lone woman had been surrounded by people with pointy needles. At least she was a new knitter, so she didn’t mind too much. One woman, while ordering coffee, remarked to one of our group, "Is EVERYONE knitting here?" The cafe was FULL of knitters. Happiness. A gal named Jennifer even came up to us near the end and said, "Hey, I’m knitting too, can I join you?" She didn’t know about the gathering, but she was a perfect fit, one of several librarians, knowing people in common with our group. I admired her for doing that.

Here are Celia and Nancy, who might have saved my sanity:

Me with Maia:

    See? I am deranged.

    The Jeni Group

Many more fabulous people were there, and I’m so bad at remembering things and sites, and I’ll totally screw them up, so I won’t even try. But I do remember that Cordelia has a new site, so go tell her hello!

And cross your fingers with us for a smooth escrow, wouldja? It would mean a lot….

The Knit-Out is still on! I’ve been in bed for five days — the cooties are good and old and you won’t catch anything, and I’ve GOT to get out of the house. (Really, I’m feeling better. Thanks for all the well-wishes. It seems to be going around, huh? Myrrh and elderberry next time, I swear I’ll remember…..)

Saturday (tomorrow) the 14th, Temescal Cafe near Article Pract on Telegraph, Oakland, 1pm
Be there!

Dude. Four days down with this crap. The doc said bronchitis, but honestly? While I’m terribly prone to lung things, I think this was just a bad flu. The lungs have cleared somewhat, which they wouldn’t have done with the big B, and the head has stuffed up more. Stupid fever’s been the worst part, since fever makes me cry when someone drops a spoon. Lala’s been a saint.
Rachael: Will you put the toilet paper in the bathroom?
Lala: Yes, but can it wait until I unpack your groceries in the kitchen? [The groceries she lovingly and kindly brought to her sick girl.]Rachael: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! Hic. Sniff.  WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.

She’s a good sport, she is. Then she made terrific pasta and didn’t mind when I cried into it. I hate being sick.

Also: Sudafed makes me insane. Just so you know. I was up all night on a super-bad ephedrine trip, worried about absolutely everything. Frantic. Miserable. It’s a good thing I’m not a big worrier, because it turns out that a) I’m good at it (when on drugs) and b) it blows. Sudafed is worth taking if you’re on your second box of kleenex in five waking hours, but that’s about it for me. I’m back down to a box of tissues a day today, and that’s good enough for me. No Sudafed, no Dayquil, no dreams when I finally fall asleep that I’m a waitress at Denny’s and have to serve beer to all the boys I broke up with while in college.

Enough. I’m tired of typing, and I’m behind in email, so forgive me. I have to go watch more old episodes of the Gilmore Girls now. That’s better than Sudafed. They do all the frenetic fretting for me.

    Miss Idaho, looking for love.

PS – My sister Christy just called, and she’s bringing me an enchilada for dinner! Yay! Life can go on! I’m about vanilla-wafered out.

https://rachaelherron.com/blha/