This is a good thing. It’s a transfer with my husband’s job that will get us back to the Midwest, much closer to family and friends.
But it means leaving friends here in Southwest Virginia.
It also means giving up my food column and blog for The Roanoke Times and leaving my part-time gig at Saint Francis Service Dogs, an amazing organization that enables miracles to happen between people and dogs. And my husband had leave the board of the Jefferson Center, a wonderful non-profit that builds skills and confidence and nurtures phenomenal talent in kids through music.
All that? Sucks.
But? House hunting in a new city is exciting.
However, packing and moving the four-bedroom-two-car garage-finished basement house that we’ve called home for the last nine years and that I love dearly? That’s my definition of living hell.
But first, we need to declutter, organize and store all of our personal items so our house looks more inviting to potential buyers.
All those hours I’ve
wasted invested watching HGTV are finally going to pay off.
I feel like I am running on a wheel of emotions: Happy, sad, excited, tired, energized, overwhelmed. I yelled at my husband last night over a roll of packing tape.
My doctor was kind enough to up my daily dosage of Klonopin.
I am going to miss that doctor.