So part of what made last week so stressful was the sudden, conscious realization that I had one month to pack up a house, find a place, and move. One month. And I'm a pack rat with a pack rat roommate, so yes, we have lots of stuff.
What happened Saturday morning at 8am? The phone rings, and it's our landlord. He's decided not to sell, he tells us, and is sorry he didn't let us know sooner. After I about fell over laughing, I wanted to slap myself for not following up on the whole moving thing sooner. Yes, I take some responsibility for this. *sigh*
The good news, though, is that we're no longer moving. I really do love living here (even though the bathroom door is having closing issues). I love the town and the huge kitchen and the back porch. So we get to stay at least another year, which is a huge weight off my shoulders. *happy dance*
Now I just need to unpack all 13 cartons of books I'd already boxed up, and hope the recycle guys take these dozens of empty boxes I toted home from work last week.