These days I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I am in a rut.
And I think my house has a lot to do with that. It's not a happy place for me to go home to right now. Not because of who's there, absolutely not. But because of the stuff that's there. The things, the clutter, the chaos.
I am tired. I am overwhelmed.
I feel like I can't breathe. I can't see the details that made me love our house so much in the first place. I can't find any damn foam paint brushes even though I know for a fact that we have some, somewhere.
Don't get me wrong - we're nowhere near an episode of Hoarders or anything like that. But my enjoyment of life is being compromised by stuff. Perhaps that's superficial and shallow. But does that make how I feel any less real? Any less valid?
I don't think so.
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