This past week completely got away from me. I never got a post out, qaabetween the conference, the house, and unexpected work demands, any time I thought I had carved out was swallowed whole. I had planned to take some time off at the end of the week specifically to focus on getting all the house tasks done. That time was supposed to be sacred, my final push to get the house ready to list.

But, of course, work had other plans.

Instead of knocking out deck painting, touch-ups inside, and staging details, I was pulled into meetings, fires, and decisions that couldn’t wait. I was toggling between contractor texts and executive-level presentations, switching from power tools to PowerPoint with barely time to breathe.

I got home Wednesday afternoon and made a beeline to the optical office to pick up my new glasses after months of struggling to see clearly. I was so ready to fix my vision, literally and figuratively. But, in keeping with the theme of the week, the glasses were all wrong. I took my contacts out, put the new pair on, and immediately realized something was off. I could see far away, but anything up close? Total blur. My computer, my phone, labels, even the paint touch-ups… all looked like they were under water.

But I couldn’t let that stop me.

The plumber was finally returning Thursday morning to finish what were supposed to be simple plumbing tasks. What began as a basic fixture update had morphed into a drywall crime scene. One “clean” cut into the guestroom wall to modernize the tub/shower turned into a patchwork puzzle, and now the bathroom still doesn’t have fixtures, and the one room we’d finally finished looks like it lost a fight with a chainsaw.

By Thursday afternoon, after my boss called with more bad news and the plumber seemed unable to find his way out of a paper bag, I felt myself breaking. On the verge of tears, like a dramatic hero in an action movie, Mr. S called right on cue. His pep talk gave me just enough fuel to keep going.

Unfortunately, our call was cut short… because the plumber turned the water back on to the house. The Ex, helpful as ever, had removed the old kitchen faucet but forgot to shut off the water line all the way.  So now we had a surprise indoor fountain. Because why not?

After drying out, some sweet messages from Mr. S and a dear friend who brought me a healthy dinner and helped prep the house for staging, I finally called it a night. I had survived a day that I feared would break me. 

Friday arrived, and after a four-hour meeting with my team, interrupted by carpet cleaners, the plumber again and the mulch delivery, I closed my laptop and shifted to the house. It’s so close to being ready. I’ve been chipping away at it for months, and now we’re just days away from listing. Despite my blurry vision, I worked on the deck for hours, until the sun disappeared. Then I moved inside, working late into the night with a headlamp and sheer willpower.

Saturday brought some bright spots. A few incredibly kind neighbors showed up and helped me knock out some of the lingering “honey-do” tasks, now my responsibility. Then the cleaning crew arrived, three women, three hours, scrubbing every inch of the house until it gleamed. For a moment, it felt like progress might actually be winning.

I squeezed in another trip to the optical office, hoping for a miracle. No such luck. I left with the same blurry lenses and an appointment for next Thursday. Still squinting. Still pressing on.

And then, because clearly the week wasn’t done with me yet, I missed the walkway and took a tumble into the dirt. Twisted ankle, sprained wrist, cuts, scrapes… I lay on my back in the dirt, staring up at the sun in disbelief, thinking. God, are you trying to tell me something? 

Every part of my body was screaming, but the deck still had to be finished. So I got up, and ever so slowly grabbed my paintbrush, and climbed the ladder gingerly, balancing on one good ankle, painting left-handed like a determined, slightly deranged Picasso. When I finally called it a night, I walked into an immaculately clean house. Thank God for the house cleaners, if only they could clean up my life!

Over the last few days, the brightest light has come from the acts of kindness around me. Friends, neighbors, and colleagues have carried me through, from encouraging texts and surprise dinners to rolling up their sleeves and diving into the to-do list. These angels showed up when I was at my most worn down, and I am beyond grateful.

Work is still demanding. Monday is coming, and with it a wave of meetings and decisions that won’t leave me much time for final staging or patio prep. I’m trying to stay present for both the job that supports my life and the life that’s in the process of being rebuilt, one wall patch, one heavy box, one blurry text at a time.

It’s Sunday today. I’m bandaged, bruised, blurry-eyed, and bone-tired. But I’m still moving. I’m going to muster up whatever strength I have left and pave ahead. Because ready or not, tomorrow’s coming.

And beyond that? A future that’s starting to flirt with me just beyond the edge of the chaos. I can’t quite see it clearly yet, but I can feel it. And I’m not stopping now.

Ready. Set. Go.