We are buying a house in three and a half hours.

I joked on Twitter that I would treat my time off from work for the move as time to pretend I was employed as a full-time blogger. That plan might have worked, except I am presently employed as a full-time home-packer, -mover, and -buyer, which leaves precious little time for blogging.

I develop a certain metaphorical or actual amount of frothing at the mouth when someone tries to add an unknown to the critical path of a project I am managing. (The critical path is the longest path of required tasks to reach the completion of a project.)

My co-workers know this metaphorical or actual frothing look well. It’s not a bad thing – it’s my show of aggression towards something unknown that could delay my goal. A rogue task has slipped into my territory, and I have to scare it off unless it’s bigger than me (i.e., essential to the project).

Let’s just say that the house-buying process is all froth, all the time. I am like my own fucking cappuccino machine.

I know that our Realtor and mortgage lender are both project managing very effectively. I adore them. When this is all over I’ll probably write an effervescently effusive post recommending them to the internet at large.

That said, I just can’t help myself. I still need to know the timing down the the minute, and the dollars down to the cent. When one of those minutes or cents change, I get frothy.

And, if you’ve ever bought or sold a house or witnessed same, you know that variance of a couple minutes and cents isn’t entirely uncommon – especially on the day of settlement.

We are three and a half hours away from being home owners, and I have reached latte macchiato levels of froth.