I'm sitting in my mom's nearly empty house, 19 percent battery left on the laptop. So I have a deadline. Kind of.
Also there is a man crawling around under the house and soon he will come in here and give me a ridiculous estimate on fixing the moisture problem under the house.
The moisture problem is ruining the hardwood floors. The hardwood floor guy said I can't sell the house with the floors like this. The realtor said the same thing.
So I'm trying to figure this out. I have zero experience with contractors since I married a do-it-yourselfer. We never hire anyone to do anything.
That doesn't mean we get it all done. That just means it doesn't get done. Or we do it half way and move onto the next project.
Yeah, we're those people.
But with mom's house I'm hiring people in the hopes that I can get this house sold. Of course I may have to put it off for a few months to see if the floors settle back in.
To make myself feel better about the above I stopped at the library and checked out a stack of books. I think I checked out six books. Six. Like I am going to read six books in two weeks. Or even six weeks.
I'm pretending I will. I haven't been reading at all lately, which is a sign that I am not doing well. I'm going to heal myself with fiction. That will work won't it?
My mom hate's fiction and calls it escapism. When I was a kid she would say, "you are just trying to escape." I didn't have the wisdom to say, " No kidding." Now I do. No kidding. I'm escaping. Can't wait to get there.