Monday, August 31, 2009
Yesterday was my Open House.
After three weeks of frantic prep leading to the nerve wracking event, it was all over in two short hours
A last minute walkthrough before the appointed time was a little unnerving. The sterile kitchen was a field of sleek, empty countertops. My desk was so naked it refracted the sunshine and made me squint in the glare. The freshly planted geraniums in the planters startled me every time I saw their blazing color through the window.
As I surveyed my staged environment, I couldn’t help but wonder…“Who lives here?” It felt as though much of my personality had been stuffed into drawers along with the clutter.
Traffic for the event was good, not great. About twelve nice folks came through, and not one apparent psycho among them. It took me a while to get my rhythm. The first lookers I’m sure found me very stiff and uncomfortable. Then I relaxed into the flow and got into a laid back salesmanship role.
I think there were a few good prospects, friends of neighbors who were familiar with the area and loved the house. But I didn’t hear those magic words I had so fiercely anticipated….”I love it! I’ll take it!”
After pulling the open sign from the street and turning off all the lights, I fell on the bed in a weary heap (next to the stoner dog who was tranquilized for the event). Every waking hour of the past few weeks had been filled with purpose. There were chores, there were exacting schedules, there was a deadline to be met.
As tired as I was, it was hard to just chill. My body and brain had been rewired to be constantly in motion. Being still was not a recent option.
So as my mind continued to whirl, I contemplated next steps. More advertising. More flyers. Spread the word. Keep the house clean. Hold a good thought.
I’m hoping this is not a never-ending story.