listing in choppy seas

It should come as no surprise that I cried when I gave up my first car. It was a 1980 Chevy Citation with an unusable passenger door, rust holes in the hood, and an MIA headliner. Instead, the interior roof was covered with crumbly, terracotta-colored foam. Every time I stepped out of the car, I looked like I had rusty dandruff. Good times, good times.

The Realtor came today to assess the house. In the end, we’ll end up asking about $10,000 less than we had been anticipating. Damn our paint choices, and this ugly carpet, and the horrible dining-room wallpaper we inherited. On the other hand, the fact that someone opted to cover gorgeous hardwood floors with the ugly carpet might be a blessing. If we pull up the UC and refinish the floors, we probably will be able to sell the house faster. Of course, that’s money we weren’t anticipating spending. And I still haven’t heard the damage yet from the yard/fence/gutter/windowsill people on what their work will cost.

Our Realtor, who also is a good friend, also gently advised us to move out before we list the house. “You’ll never be able to keep it clutter-free enough for showings,” he said. What does that say about me?

The house is going to look amazing. I love this place, with its tree swing and the pond in the backyard, and the split-rail fence in front (even if cars peskily knock it down from time to time), and the floor plan with unexpected corners and turns. I love my cedar closet. I love my mud room. I love everything about it. But I’m ready to look forward. Denver is nice, so I’m told.