that white speck is the light at the end of the tunnel—or just an errant piece of drywall

H and I have been furiously working to get the condo ready to be listed since he got off the plane on March 24. This has included new appliances, a new wood floor, new furniture, making a headboard, and scouring every home-type store, student art gallery, hardware store and Target within 30 miles. We have made more trips to IKEA in the last three weeks than trips made in the combined lifetimes of all members of both of our families, and the condo's front-desk people are wondering if we're building an emporium in our unit because of the frequent requests for freight elevators and luggage carts to haul all this stuff up there. 

We even contacted artist friends to see if we might borrow a few pieces for a few months, but unfortunately the logistics didn't work out (however, I really liked a piece featuring a Rabbit that was painted by Kaiya's fiance, and was disappointed that we needed more of a vertical). It even got to the point where I bought a ginormous canvas and dug up my own oil paints in an attempt to come up with something useable. But then I remembered that any piece of art I've made has taken weeks or months, and we just don't have that kind of time (and I can't stand to look at my own stuff anyway). So we hung a mirror instead.

Our realtor came by last night and said things looked good. The only thing left to do is hang six framed photos in the hall—a 30-minute job that will likely take 4 hours with all the scooching and adjusting and laser-leveling.  We've been been procrastinating on it, probably because after that I'll have nothing to do but lose sleep over how long it will take the place to sell.

We had the good luck of finding an all-purpose contractor guy who happens to be married to my mom's coworker, and he finished all of our projects in record speed (it also really helped that the weather was craptastic all last week so he wasn't able to go to his 9-5 job and could work with us). So if anyone is looking to make home improvements in the Chicago area, e-mail me.

What's hilarious about this whole thing is that it's a TINY place with only four rooms. I have no idea how people with full-out houses complete with backyards and chimneys and shutters and all that other jazz do what it takes to get things moving in this kind of market. All I know is that we're going to think long and hard about the next place we get because renovating is not as fast and simple and cheap as it seemed when we started. But I do like the way it looks, even though it feels a little impersonal.

As a reward, I have been on a Guitar Hero fast since the Wii was delivered. H has already rocked it, and he even bought me my own guitar-controller, but I have stuck to my policy of delayed gratification and won't plug in until that last damn picture is hanging on the wall and our place is listed. Because, as we all know, once I get the fever, I'm not going to want to sleep, eat or work until I have conquered it. So I may as well get everything done first.

But once it's on, it's ON.