Trumpets blared and the clouds parted

...and I finished my stint as a resident on Bluemont Drive.

I cannot believe the process is over. The job I did on the shrubs yesterday was substandard, and I'm quite sure the cleaning of the window-sills tonight was less quality. But everything I own is out of there, the trash is bagged and dumped, the kitchen and bathrooms are mopped, and the rest of the place is vacuumed and I am here, in another place, and nobody is expecting me back there tomorrow.

Do you understand the weight of what I'm announcing to you? First, I have to admit that I am up for the prize of "she who is more delusional than most" when it comes to "what she can accomplish in x number of hours." Which is to say all that stuff I thought I'd accomplish yesterday was split between yesterday and today. And the high level of organizational bliss I was encountering with each new visit to the storage unit from heaven is no longer a part of my reality. I have boxes and bags that sit precariously close to toppling onto something else that's precariously perched. And they're not labeled, either. It doesn't seem to matter how well I labeled the earlier 75% of the stuff. The last few days' worth was atrocious. And, as many of my friends say, "it is what it is." No complaints and no bitchin' allowed. It's done and I can breathe. For about 8 hours longer. Then I get to awake, take care of some personal business then call a client to see where we should start with our next step. Back to "work as usual" and I'm fairly reassured and relieved to return to a sense of normalcy.

And one day I'll return to the storage unit of precarious balancing acts and try to restore a bit of order. But that day is not yet here...