Friday night was spent catching up on Doctor Who; you already heard my thoughts on that.
Saturday morning, grief attacks triggered by the events in the Doctor Who episodes were beating me up when I woke up. It wasn't pretty. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to spend bawling into my breakfast, as we had to get over to my mom's house for the installation of a new dishwasher. Also, we had a local contractor over whom we'd found on Angie's List with high marks, to give us an estimate for a stairlift down into the basement and give the place a general once-over to make it "elderly-mother-friendly."
The afternoon and evening was spent going through books and such around the house; part of the plan towards writerly going pro involves very probably selling our house, which honestly is very problematic for me and is probably my single largest obstacle. I don't want to sell our house, not if we don't have to, but I don't see any realistic way to avoid it if I'm going to do this thing.
Today we spoke to the real estate agent who sold us this place originally, as we quite liked her, about the possibility of looking around at other places. Her recommendation was that we get our place ready to sell first, with our contract to sell being made contingent on our finding a new place.
I was okay, I think, until that part came up. When hit in the face by the ice-water-realization of all that entailed, not to mention the abandoning of all the work we've put into this house, I got a major case of cold feet, which then made both my mental processes and emotions shut down.
Maybe I'll feel better about it in the morning; I hope so. But right now, I really don't want to do this.