I woke at 3:00 a.m. the day after my brother and sister-in-law left and couldn't get back to sleep. Now my mind and body were racing in earnest. Physically tired but unable to sit still for long, I hunted out and washed a tablecloth, then found a website on how to fold napkins and set the table with the best plates, wine glasses, flowers (silk!) and candles in cut-glass candlesticks. Another website gave me an idea for how to dress up the foyer; I moved a mirror-topped table from my bedroom into the foyer, added a small white lamp and a chair, and set one of my gardening books from the nearby bookcase on the table. With the shining white tablecloth, it's immediately eye-catching when you walk in the door.
I moved pictures around to cover at least some of the bare spots left by others that had been sold or hauled away. I cleaned and lemon-oiled the potting table in the sunroom. I vacuumed the whole house -- something an osteopath had told me long ago never to do with a back that's so prone to going out. (I survived.) Rearranged plants. Ruthlessly cleaned the kitchen. Moved a couch. Dressed things up. I got it all done and felt both abused that I'd had to do so much and elated at what I'd accomplished on less than 5 hours' sleep.
The photo shoot was a success, and on Wednesday morning, just around the time the broker open house started, I was leaving the chiropractor's office headed for a massage, manicure and pedicure. I'd earned that!
But no rest for the weary -- I now had just ten days before the first public open house. I still couldn't sleep past 6:00, and usually woke between 4:30 and 5:15. I continued to be too restless to sit at the computer for long, in spite of having a ton of work to do there. I'd keep getting up to do something to improve the looks of the house. On Friday and Sunday JoAnn came and we tackled the one room that had barely been touched -- this office, the room I practically live in. (We did a hell of a job, too.)
On Saturday night my brother Bob gave one of his famous parties here, where many of the guests get up and perform music, comedy, sketches -- whatever they like, impromptu or planned. It was a "farewell to the house" party, and we had a great time, although my turn to sing my two songs came so late in the evening that my throat wasn't in good shape. (I also made the worst balls-up in my entire life of my signature piano piece, Debussy's "Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum." Augh!) Bless them, Bob and his family also came to clean up from the party on Sunday.
This week I still can't sleep properly. I wake up at 2:30, 3:15 and 4:30 -- when I decide the hell with it, I'll get up. When my psychiatrist and I talked about this two days ago, he told me to increase my trazodone dosage from 100 to 125 mg. NO difference. As usual, I got to sleep easily but woke four times between 1:30 and 4:30, when I gave up. So last night, on my own, I increased trazodone to 150 mg and managed to sleep straight through -- until 5:15, when one of the cats woke me and my brain immediately went into gear. Then this morning I had a bright idea and took my entire Geodon dose instead of half then and half this evening. I cut trazodone back to 125 again tonight. (I made these small med adjustments without contacting the doctor. Sue me.) We'll see how it goes. I've been keeping a sleep diary since Wednesday night.
The public open house is the day after tomorrow. JoAnn, bless her, bless her, is coming again tomorrow to help do the floors and final cleaning and tidying. I've finished the office, cleaned fingerprints and accumulated dirt off the kitchen cabinets, cleaned all the mirrors and glass; the windows were washed inside and out today ($450!!) -- in between storms; Wednesday I spent 45 minutes in the front yard deadheading spent irises, coralbells and forget-me-nots; I've lemon-oiled as much of the wood furniture and cabinets as I can stand to do (another job that really bothers my back, which aches non-stop these days); and in the ten days since the broker open house not one person has actually come to see the house.
All this work -- and there's at least a 50/50 chance that whoever eventually buys this property will tear the house down. But if that happens, it won't mean all our work will be for naught. A ton of clutter is gone -- sold, hauled away or just trashed. I've pared my possessions down considerably, even selling/giving all we could find of my childhood collection of toy horses (I kept two) and throwing away every last one of my old diaries that took up TWO bookshelves. (I'd never want to read them and relive the angst of my younger days, nor would I want anyone else to read what a naïve idiot I was.) And I've learned a ton about decluttering, keeping a house looking great, and housework in general.
In the end ... writing this article has been an overdrive exercise, too. I actually couldn't just sit and play a computer game this evening. I cleaned and oiled the desk in the living room (and put scratch cover on nicks), until my back was too painful to do any more physical work. Then these words just boiled up in me and came spilling out.
And it's bedtime. I know I can get to sleep. Will I get to stay asleep?
Next day -- The answer:
Yes ... but only till one of the cats woke me at 4:30. Guess I'll have to start locking the cats up at night. They'll hate me.
