I've got six months, if all goes well. Which, on the one hand, is a nice slow pace. But on the other hand is like tearing a band-aid off s-l-o-w-l-y. Every night, I comb through a bit more of 30 years accumulated junk, by which process I've made the house look like absolute crap. No realtor in yet. Selling a low-end house in the midst of a martgage crisis.
We haven't exchanged contracts on either the sale or the purchase in Britain. I've told my other half there's only two places I want to live in Britain: this house or Broadmoor. So if we lose this house, I'm going on a freaking rampage. (Fair warning).
Good thing I drink!