Hello, Eczema, my old friend

The stress has decided to manifest itself in the physical world.  My hands look like a 13 year old's T-zone.  The little red bumps are worse than pimples, though, because they relentlessly itch.  This is a well-documented stress reaction of mine.   Hey, at least I have a crystal clear signal from my body that says, "STOP!" 

Stuff happened this week. A lot of it.  The estate sale happened. I don't know what I expected, but I do not feel sad.  I keep waiting for that, the sadness of loss.  "Alas and alack, my home is no more!"  But no, of course that's not how it is. Our home is now the RV. We took it with us.  And what is left after the estate sale madness (and madness, it absolutely was) is a shell of a house. For those looking to go this route, I'd say probably be dead first.  Then, it's totally fine when a team of people starts putting price tags on all of your belongings.  See, then it's all good when you have to be away from your house for two full days while they sell it all.  The way we did it was really taxing.  There are only so many things you can do, so many errands you can run.  The upside is that I got a new mattress topper.   The downside is that they did not sell everything.  Just a lot of things.  We now have the ominous job of going through what is left and either selling it ourselves (Craig's List, here we come), donating it or storing it.

We also finished getting Town home #1 cleaned up and ready to list this week. That was a three full days of cleaning.  The renters had not trashed the place or anything, but renters are different from owners.  There was some neglect and grime and that required elbow grease.   I found some new muscles that can be detected only by cleaning the floor behind a refrigerator. 

Meanwhile, we picked up the RV and started moving into it.  I'm just going to leave that there for now.  

And finally, it was mammogram time.  Many women can related to the stress of the call after a mammogram saying that additional pictures are needed.  It isn't a panicked, crisis type of stress. Rather, it's a low level hum, a persistent and nagging thought as one tries to talk oneself out of worrying.  "I'm sure it's nothing.  I'm fine. And if it's cancer, they're sure catching it early.  I don't feel sick at all.  So that's good.  And it's nothing, probably.  It's just a bad picture.  But if it is cancer, I really live close to a fantastic facility. Mayo is the best. I'll go there and I will be okay." And round and round it goes.  I went in Friday for the new pictures.  They took them. And then?  They wanted another one.   Now, it's cancer or at the very least a benign cyst.  I probably have to have it removed. They'll do a biopsy.  I might have to go through radiation or something, just to be safe.

"You are all clear. It is just overlapping tissue. You can go now." 

And then the relief floods through every cell and the realization of how much you've been carrying around weighs as you let it go.  Deep breath. 

And on we go.