So many stories...

... I could tell you.

I could tell you how the job opportunity in the UK with my old company did work out.

I could tell you how I was feeling so optimistic and happy at how things were coming together for the big move to the UK.  Until the monumental task of actually accomplishing the move caught up with me.

I could tell you how hard we worked to get the little shack on the prairie remodeled and ready to sell.

I could show you the before and after pictures which remind me just how far we've come with the house.  Even when all I can see are the few little things that aren't done yet.

I could tell you how we worked every waking moment on the house until it felt like we had nothing else to give and yet the work still wasn't done.  And how I thought I would never, ever, be done painting the utility room.

I could tell you how we didn't really get to celebrate Christmas, our absolutely favorite time of year, and it felt like we were robbed.

I could tell you about how we still managed to put up a little Christmas tree and the small treasured light it brought to our miserable existence nearly saved my sanity.

I could tell you that we stood in the biting cold on our new back deck and surveyed our 130-degree view of the horizon and watched as the fireworks went off all over to ring in 2012 and how I will never forget the moment when this life-altering year kicked off.

I could tell you that I was optimistically hopeful that since everything else came together for the move, selling the house in this dire market would be a piece of cake.  But now I'm not so sure and it terrifies me.

I could tell you that my immigration application was ridiculously easy to get approved and for that I'm grateful.  But it doesn't stop me from having a recurring nightmare that I've forgotten some critical step and won't be admitted to the country when I get to Heathrow.

I could tell you how hurt and angry I feel since someone I considered a close friend here in Portland wrote me a "have a nice life" kiss-off message (she's got her own things to deal with right now) and didn't even respond to my gracious and understanding reply.

I could tell you how another one of my closest friends has volunteered to drive over 300 miles for an overnight trip with her family and her two dogs to help us load the shipping container.  But I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to have a friend that would do something like that for me.

I could tell you how I was so focused on the future after we move, I forgot to prepare myself for how difficult it would be to tear myself away from the life I've built in a city I love.

I could tell you how lucky I am to find that a dear friend's mother was willing to adopt my two cats...how I was prepared for how hard it would be to give them up when we dropped them off on New Year's Day... but that my husband was not prepared for how hard it would be for him - and how experiencing that pain with him intensified it more than I could have imagined.

I could tell you how we found a place to rent in a fantastic location in the UK and how I'm slightly worried since we rented it sight unseen (in person anyway), but so excited because it's a little cottage set in the English countryside and seems like the perfect place to start our new life there.

I could tell you that I've gone back to work at the start of January (commencing in the Portland office before moving to the UK later in the month), which was perhaps a foolish decision given how much we have to accomplish before the move.

I could tell you how I have nightmares and wake up in cold sweats because I feel like I'm balancing spinning plates and I'm just barely managing not to drop the whole lot of them.

I could tell you that no matter what happens, we are on a plane to Iceland in two weeks.  And after a few days relaxation in the frigid Icelandic winter, our new life will begin - ready or not, here we go.

I could tell you all this, but I've barely time to breathe, let alone write.  I'm a ball of tears and optimism, and I'm just hanging onto my sanity by a thread until this relentless pressure ends and I can finally relax.