The big stuff is done. The only "repair" left in the condo is painting over the spackle where the towel bar fiasco occurred. It could have been done today if I hadn't added one more layer to the side where the spongy silicone goo was removed. The other two layers shrank a bit when they dried, and I just can't stop at "good enough." Most of the surplus tools and cleaning equipment have been hauled away (full disclosure: they're still in my car, waiting for me to have the energy to carry them to the garage.) I left some towels and sprays to wipe down everything one last time before the open house in the kitchen closet, and a wax warmer going to change the scent profile from "simple green" to "autumn spice."
While I did some last minute panic cleaning, the Mr took listing photos. I intend to create some online advertising tonight, at minimum a Craigslist ad for an open house. But I don't know where the will to go on is coming from. I barely made it home, and even after a stop at a probably unsafe drive through for fries and a chocolate shake, I had no ATP left to run any of my muscles. I sat on my bed, propped against the pillows, legs straight out, and stared at the tv until I was too tired to hold my eyes open (so, maybe 5 minutes). The Mr came home almost an hour later, and luckily knew what it meant when I mumbled "no ATP." He brought me food and left me hoping I could both chew and watch the same satellite loop of the hurricane on the news.
I'm soaking now, both loving the hot water on my sore muscles and hating how hot it is on my middle-aged-woman's skin. That open house ad isn't done yet, but I have to dig deep to care. I did manage to look online enough to decide my price point is pretty spot on. Maybe before bedtime I might rebound enough to show it to the world, or at least to potential renters in Boulder.
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