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?