The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

Back At It

I took some time off writing the blog to focus on working on a book I decided I want to write. The concept is a tell-all exposé about parenting and marriage, in which I expound upon some of my favorite metaphors (Having kids is like smelling your own farts) and generate some new ones (Getting a pedicure is like putting on your own oxygen mask first when the plane is crashing). Of course, in the last 3 weeks I’ve managed to put together 655 words, so I’ve mostly just felt guilty both about not writing the blog and not writing the book.

That said, if I wasn’t failing at large portions of my life at any given time, I wouldn’t recognize the surroundings and the shock would probably trigger a stroke. So… cheers to familiar territory.

Don’t worry, though. The fact that I’m updating the blog doesn’t mean I’ve given up on the book. It just means I’m conceding that the idea of “devoting time I would usually spend writing the blog, writing the book instead” was a failed experiment and my mental block against long form still exists. My efforts need redoubling. My pep needs a good talking-to. My motivation needs a goddamn slap on the mouth. I’m working on it.

In the meantime, here I am, back to telling you about the ridiculous things in my life twice a week while I try to overcome my own laziness and self-doubt on the side.

In other depressing news, I’ve gained all of my pneumonia-weight-loss back, though I’ve managed to maintain a nagging cough.

And since I’m clearly whining, I feel comfortable telling you: Real Estate is bumming me out. (Oh you thought I didn’t do that anymore because I hardly ever talk about it? Nope. I’m still deep in the trenches.) I spent most of 2013 and the beginning of 2014 so busy closing deals I got to the point where getting a new client who wanted to buy or sell a house just made me worry I would have to miss circus class. I became a complacent and ungrateful Realtor. I thought there was no way the flood of business would stop. I told myself I’d just reached the next level in my business and I wouldn’t need to worry about having months where I didn’t close a deal anymore. I thought my biggest future problem would be how much I should be setting aside for my stupidly large tax bill.

But the flow began to ebb, as it always does in this biz. Suddenly I’m nearly 10 years in real estate (February 2015 is my decadiversary) and at the tail end of a slump year. Which probably hasn’t been helped by my lack of blogging or discussing real estate at all in social media. I told people for years that even though it didn’t really look like it, blogging and social media were my marketing bread and butter. Sure, I made jokes, talked about my kids and used the f-word for the most part, but I made sure to pepper in enough real estate references to remind people it’s what I do and I do it well. But apparently I didn’t even believe my own spiel until now, after I’d all but quit marketing myself and am sitting next to a silent phone with a cleared calendar for the week.

Me: *SIGH*

Also Me: Waaaaaaa. Enough of the pity-party.

Me: Wallowing helps me process.

Also Me: Oh stop it. How many of your clients have you told recently real estate gets quiet between Thanksgiving and New Years?

Me: All of them.

Also Me: So why does it surprise you when it’s between Thanksgiving and New Years and all of a sudden your schedule opens up a little?

Me: Because even I don’t believe my own bullshit, obviously. Haven’t we already established that?

Also Me: You should probably work on that. And dude, you’ve written two new build contracts in the last week and have a listing closing this week. That’s not exactly a barren real estate landscape.

Me: I guess. It was just SO EASY last year.

Also Me: Oh cry everyone a river. You have to actually sell yourself again. Suck it up, sister.

Me: It’s my least favorite part of this job.

Also Me: Well you could always quit and go back to editing technical manuals in Northwest Phoenix.

Me: SUCKING IT UP. Right now. Sucking it up.

Also Me: Or you could actually write the book you’re always talking about writing but not actually writing.

Me: Now you’re bumming me out again.

Also Me: That’s life, lady. That’s life.


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