Even more, I don't want my baby to go there! Maybe we should consider military school-no-that's no good anymore--
a monastery?
I read your post and then I thought-yeah-MY stuff! MY junk! I love my home! That's the attitude!!!
And I walked into the living room-where there was a pair of dirty white socks draped over the new sofa. And a t-shirt that said, "I would've come to swim practice but I forgot to shave my legs" lying limply at the bottom of the stairs, apparently having expired before it could go any further (and judging from its odor, quite some time ago). A cord from an electric guitar against the fireplace wound attractively across the floor ending in the center of the coffee table attached to a bright yellow box labelled "Bass Pulse Overdrive". The mail was dropped artistically along the space between stairs and kitchen, in a somewhat post-modern arrangement, while small pieces of torn envelopes littered the way, the confetti of CW's daily Walk through Heroes' Canyon on his victorious return from school. Two empty yogurt containers, an empty box of poptarts, and a glass with milk dried on the bottom sulked next to a chair. In back of the sofa in a heap lay the old drapes, and unfortunately, the new drapes, which I was unable to hang because I lost my balance on the piano bench and pulled the hardware out of the wall, leaving big holes in the plaster so I can't put anything back in. Next to the French doors was a huge bag of birdseed; it's been there for weeks. My husband loves to feed birds.
I dunno, Melinda, a minimally furnished and clean hotel room sound
kinda nice. |
