At Home
January 22, 2009
In case anyone (mom) was wondering, Kippy forgave me for being gone for three weeks. After ignoring me for one day, scratching me on the third day, and barfing twice in between (unrelated angst), she finally came around and we laid on the couch for two hours purring, and watching On Demand episodes of Intervention.
At least one of us has gotten over our extended existential crisis pattern.
In other home-front news, I’ve been doing my damndest to “nest” as of late. I realized over Christmas break that it is a little unnecessary for a girl of *ahem* almost twenty-five to be living much like a frat boy would live: laundry on the floor or piled up in the back of the closet, wet towels hanging off the doorknob, dirty dishes in the sink, curtains that don’t match (and not in a cute eclectic kistch kind of way…) Melody and I talk about it constantly, the innate desire for women to “nest”. When all the world is a little bit of a mess the only thing we can do is shop or nest. And since I recently called myself a Lawrence local in a conversation with some other “locals” I decided it was time for me to do a little home-building of my own. Things are insanely messy right now, but it is coming together nicely, I think. I hung two pictures, framed another, and finally hung up all my laundry.
My curtains still don’t match, but at least the shower is clean and the cats love me again.
Thank you, Jesus! In case it be thought that this is all I know how to say, here is something to celebrate. I’ve worked all my life to get you to “cleanup” and it is finally making an impact. Ash, remember when I took you to Lawrence to look for a place to live after you took the year off? There were those three apartments we looked at that horrified the heck out of me. The first was where the kid had shaved his beard (?) in the middle of the living room and left the pile of hair next to the clippers right there on the floor. Then the other where the gay guy came to the door wrapped in a blanket (and nothing else) to let us in. He had everything on the floor and his apartment not only stunk but so did we for hours after looking around for all of 4 minutes max. Then remember the frat dude who had the girly pictures hanging all over the place and a stack of Taco Bell wrappers and boxes that pretty much assured me that no woman was ever going to grace the inside of that abode. Keep looking at those naked pics and wishing cause it is going to take a pretty high blood alcohol level to look past the Taco Bell obsession and see the true delightful and attractive macho man that lived there. I always worried that you would end up like them in the housekeeping department. Please tell me you are over it. Maybe someday I will be able to come to visit. Get the nest ready!