One one hand, it's so good to be home, in a house where I built most of the furniture, where things are where I expect them and I can reach the nightstand from my bed without feeling as if I'm about to plunge to the floor.
On the other hand, I have so much to do! I'm struck again by the realization that I am a terrible housekeeper; to call my home "bohemian" is a grave insult to the good people of Bohemia, even the slovenly ones.
No time like the present, I suppose, and when it's all a mess, I can start anywhere.
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