Panic

I've suddenly found myself with a little bubble of time to get to Nashville this weekend, and I am already panicked through and through.  The thought of going in, even more of staying in, that house just sends me around the bend.  Why, oh why can't there be a way to finish all this up without me having to set foot in there again?

The answer, of course, is that when I was there sorting things out for the estate sale, the plan for Hannah to move up was still in place.  That's gone now, although it has been replaced with a strapping and mostly unyielding opposition to me selling the house.  Briton has come to understand the emotional and financial strain keeping it put on me.  Hannah may be there, too, but just won't admit it.

At any rate, I'm going up late, late, late tomorrow night and getting out as fast as I can Sunday.  (We thought we had Briton and Hannah's schedules lined up so that he could get her to and from each day, but that blew up about 45 minutes ago.)

This should be the next-to-the-last time I have to go in the house.  Briton and Hannah still want to go and say their goodbyes, and there may be an item or two that I simply can't bring back this trip. As unpredictable as their work schedules and temperaments are, though, I wonder if that can happen within any realistic framework.  If we're going to auction, I'd rather it be sooner than later, so that I can start the new year with one less yoke around my neck.