You'll be happy to know I'm not dead. At least, I HOPE you're happy to know that. We are drowning in "get the house ready to sell" work. It's gonna kill me. I am almost finished regrouting the white-tiled kitchen counters. We figured that brownish, stained grout with pristine white tiles wasn't exactly a selling point. So now the grout is new and white and no one (read: Gordon) is allowed to use the counters until we've sold the house. And just in case, I'm damn well covering it all with chopping boards and wax paper and whatever else will spare the grout from the wrath of he-who-knows-not-how-to-wipe-a-counter.
The grouting was strangely satisfying, even if all that chiselling-out of old grout did reactivate my recurring shoulder injury. And I hurt my lower back on Wednesday when I had a coughing fit whilst bending over. This particular place on my lower back is my "Achilles heel" and if I am going to injure any part of my body, this will likely be the spot. I feel fricking old.
At any rate, I was mobile enough to finish my grouting, despite starting today bent in half. Last night I spent four hours on the couch, wishing Gordon weren't away on business because I needed someone to feed me grapes and rub my feet.
On a brighter note, my trampoline-loving neighbours just sold their house in a WEEK for $100,000 odd more than they bought it for less than a year ago. The real estate market in this town is INSANE. I am secretly hopeful (well, no secret, really) that we are going to make a killing on our own house. We shall see.
I am going to walk the neglected dog, then accomplish something from our list of "5,821 things to do before we list the house", aka Chore-o-rama.