Two weeks into readying my home for sale — that I once thought of as well-kept — is like working on a never-ending list.

One task leads to another and before I know it, I’ve begun seven and finished none.  No matter how much I do, the end — forgive the pun —  is a moving target.

And the middle, where I currently sit, stand and kneel, surrounded by paint cans and half-packed boxes and Clorox wipes — is no-two-ways about it, ugly.

Doesn’t a project like this, always get worse before getting better?

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