Phil has a calculator on his iPad that will tell you how many days it is until an event in the future. So we asked it how any days there are until we come home, and as of Saturday morning, there were 559.
559 days to get the house cleared out and repainted and fixed up and hopefully sold – not to mention setting up a new life at the other end.
So armed with the knowledge that we only had those 559 days, I was planning to use this weekend wisely. I was full of ideas on Friday night – and full of energy. I was going to finish sorting the books in the living room and make a start on the unused bedroom that is currently filled with CDs, old records and junk. Oh and I was going to do all this while also whipping up a batch of the amazing focaccia bread I saw on ‘The Great British Bake-off.’ I pictured myself filled with purpose, moving efficiently between kneading my dough and boxing up old books, and maybe catching up with a bit of work while the dough was rising.
But then I woke up with all the tell-tale signs of a cold. My head hurt, my throat was sore, and I felt as though someone has stacked weights on my muscles. An hour into Saturday, my imaginary efficient self somehow turned into a slightly sweaty blob lying around groaning weakly and occasionally shuffling to the bathroom at the speed of someone twice my age.
So tomorrow there will be 557 days to go, I got nothing done, and we have a busy work week ahead. Still, we did achieve one thing – we made a plan of everything we have to do, and first thing on the list is having the real estate agent come round to look at the house, tell us what it’s worth, and advise us on staging it for sale. We picked next week because we’ll need some time to tidy before she gets here and I just know next weekend I’ll be super-efficient and filled with energy. Really I will!