Nicing it up for the new people

Moving always lights a fire under my butt to do all the things that I have persistently been unable to find the time to do around the house.

We’ve been at our current home for six and a half years - which is the longest we have lived in one place since we got married - but I’m only getting around to painting the bathroom now that we are moving. I’ll only have a couple of months to enjoy the house in tip-top shape.

Our front and back porches are freshly painted. The grass is mowed (yes, even that final time that feels a bit unnecessary in the fall). The black raspberry bushes have been pruned into submission. The front flower beds are freshly mulched. Even the grass clippings that I had been using around the knockout roses as a form of silent protest against our expensive and vindictive HOA have been bagged up and hauled away and replaced with actual mulch.

The ice maker in the fridge that hasn’t worked for over 6 years has been fixed (and stayed fixed!) with a $10 roll of aluminum tape, some elbow grease, and 3 large coolers to hold the fridge and freezers contents while it was unplugged for 24 hours. The cabinets in the kitchen have been touched up even though I hadn’t done this before because I didn’t think it was possible. (Turns out, it was). The paint throughout the house is being touched up so the new people won’t know what hooligans I’ve been raising. The little door stoppers that my kids or vacuum robot have knocked loose from the walls are being replaced. The walls in the closets and laundry room are being magic eraser-ed so we don’t have to paint spaces no one will actually see.

The house is going be so lovely when we leave that I think it might making leaving it a little harder. I sure hope the new people appreciate how nice I’m making it for them. 

To Do Lists for Days

When I was a teenager, I used to make a lot of to-do lists. 

I don’t mean like the way normal people make to-do lists. I mean, I made a LOT of to-do lists. They were a soothing balm for my relentless anxiety, and I was all too happy to self-medicate.

I would pull out a crisp, blank sheet of college-ruled paper, and in my neatest handwriting, put down every single thing that I needed to do. 

I’d start with simple items like “complete algebra II homework” or “finish paper for Mrs. Huie.” But as the list got longer, my anxiety would dredge up new fears. I started listing items that had deadlines far into the future (“take the SATs in spring of Junior year”) or simply weren’t actually “checkable” items, such as “become fluent in Spanish” or “learn to play guitar.”

Sometimes, if my anxiety was really intense, I would break down my to-do items into minute steps:

1. Write letter

2. Put letter in envelope

3. Address letter

4. Stamp letter

5. Mail letter

The advantage to these minute steps was that I took one task and turned it into five tiny, but glorious, dopamine hits. As I dragged my pen across the paper to cross each item off the list, I could feel the anxiolytic effects wash over my nervous system. The immediate relief only encouraged me in my pursuit of more to-do lists.

But the relief never lasted long. As soon as I started crossing items off my beautiful to-do list, I had the overwhelming need to re-write the list. So, out would come another blank sheet of paper and in my neatest handwriting and with my favorite pen, I would transfer all the yet-completed tasks to a new list and the process would start again.

I could always tell how anxious I had been by checking my pockets at the end of the day. How many to-do lists today? How many times did I rewrite this list to give myself a moment’s peace? Three? Five? Seven??

So to-do lists and I have a long history. On again, off again. We can never stay apart for long. I should have known that a move abroad would have me running back again, clinging to a to-do list, hoping for a drop of dopamine to save me from myself. I bought a notebook as soon as I accepted the job in Taupo. It was just a place for to-do lists. The notebook was supposed to help contain them. To keep them in one place. It’s laughable that I thought that was even possible.

I have a to-do list for preparing the inside of our house for rental and another for preparing the outside of our house for rental. I have a to-do list for preparing for our flights and another list for what to do after we land. I have a to-do list of what to bring with us and another list of things that are staying. I have a to-do list for cleaning the house and a to-do list for paperwork we need. 

And all of them need rewriting. All the time. They beg to be re-written. I check off an item - dopamine hit. I re-write the list because now there’s a checked off item - even bigger dopamine hit.

I wonder how many to-do lists I will have written by the time we land in New Zealand in 84 days… 50? 100? 1,000?

Selling all the things

 I hate selling things. I have never been much of a salesperson. It’s just not in my nature. I detest trying to “make a sale.” I don’t want to try to convince or persuade anyone to buy anything. It’s just not for me.

And that is really rather unfortunate because we are selling almost everything we own to move halfway around the world.

And what’s worse, is that the way to sell, bit by bit, the things that you have slowly accumulated over many years is to turn to one of the darkest, most sinister, most disturbing corners of the internet… Facebook Marketplace.

I would argue that, even for someone not like myself, Facebook Marketplace is the Devil’s flea market. It is a land of pure frustration, confusion, irritation, and delay.

“Hi Laura, is this still available?” 

“Is this available?”

”I’m interested.”

”Hi Laura, is this still available?”

The messages haunt me in my sleep.

Sometimes, I answer dozens of questions, only to realize I’ve been talking to a ghost. The “interested party” simply disappears into thin air, never to be heard from again.

Other times, the person asks to meet to make a purchase, only to go mad (I presume from demon possession) and suddenly goes on a tirade about how I’m not located close enough to their house despite my listing having a pin on a map showing my location. One lady even gave me a negative review because I told her that I wouldn’t drive an hour to sell her the item that she low-balled me on. “She only thinks of herself!” she wrote. She blocked me too!

Even the neighborhood Buy-Sell-Trade Page is just another kiosk in Satan’s Strip Mall. On one occasion, I had a woman ask if she could pay $20 for a bookcase instead of the $30 I was asking because she’d have to sand it down to repair the 2 cm scratch on one side. I agreed to $20 but insisted that this wasn’t a nice enough bookcase to be sanded down and indeed only had wood-colored cardboard for sides. Interestingly, she had no problems accepting that it couldn’t be repaired. For 3 weeks, she would tell me she was coming to get it, I would haul it out onto the front porch, and then she wouldn’t show. “The weather was bad… I needed a dolly for the bookcase… I need to borrow a truck…” and more. I have no doubt that the Devil had a hand in her bad luck, torturing us both in the process. I would have just given up and sold it to another (possibly crazier) individual but she left $20 cash under the mat on one occasion when she came to pick it up and realized it wouldn’t fit in her car. After a month, I finally offered to bring it to her house for an extra $10. She happily accepted, but also messaged to reschedule delivery TWICE!

Occasionally, I get asked ridiculous questions, clearly meant to torment me. “Is this new in box?” regarding a set of definitely open Lego clearly in a tote with hand-written “LEGO” on top. Or weirdly specific questions about items that are listed for only $1. I don’t know the scroll speed on the wireless mouse, Debra. It’s $1. Buy it and find out.

For over 2 months, my front porch has been littered with art supplies, children’s toys, books, furniture, totes, and more. I frequently have to message people 2-3 times to remind them to come pick up their items - sometimes 4, 5, or even 6 times! One person hasn’t picked up a set of $3 highlighters for 5 weeks! They’re just highlighters, but they mock me every time I walk past them on our porch. I can hear them cackling and whispering to themselves. “Look at her, she thinks she’s sold us. Does she even know if she’s been paid? Will she even notice if she never is? Let’s stay here and torment her FOREVER…”

See this Pandora’s box that I have unleashed? This world of constant posting, updating, responding to questions, arranging pickups, putting items out, following up when items don’t ever get picked up… It is chaos. It is evil. It is Facebook Marketplace.