The Victorious After

So yes, I made good use of Patriots’ Day Weekend to get my home office/goddess room in good order. I’ll toss in one glossy “After” shot right here.

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For the “Before,” you can just go back to my whiny post from Friday night. However much courage it took to post that picture 4 days ago, I do not have enough extra bravery lying around to post that embarrassing picture again….

So: rather a big change. I’m a little bit proud of myself for pulling it off.

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These Two Feet

Well, I made good progress in the “goddess room” today. It’s still not together enough for me to take a photo to show off my accomplishment. I’d say the job is about halfway done. I also spent slices of time doing some organizational work elsewhere in the house.

Including cleaning out my sock drawer.

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Reclaiming My Space

Words can scarcely describe how grateful I am to be home again. Over the last week, I covered 1,500 miles and 4 big cities (if you count my Boston originating and end-point). Every leg of the trip was worthwhile, but add all those miles and unfamiliar residences together and a girl just gets tired, you know?(1)

So I’m glad it’s the weekend, and also that the unique Massachusetts tradition of Patriots’ Day means I can stay mostly in nesting mode for the next 3 days.

And I know exactly what I want to do with the time.

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The Shirt Off My Back

QUICK HIT: Still deep in deadline-land.

I’ve posted now and again about the general clutteredness of my life: too many interests, too much indulging of those diverse interests with too much shopping.(1) Mix in some mild hoarding tendencies with not nearly enough free time to dig in for a full “Kondo-ing,” and you can probably get the picture from there.

Obviously, I ain’t been doing any decluttering whilst traversing deadline-land. In all honesty, it’s gonna be a mother-forking miracle if I get laundry done and my suitcase packed before I leave town next week.

But I have been getting an inordinate(2) amount of pleasure from one small victory in this area.

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No, I’m Not Keeping ALL My Books

Wow, that Marie Kondo book thing hit a bit of a nerve. In addition to the article I posted two days ago, I’ve seen numerous more hot takes since then, from both sides of the “give away your books” debate (yes, purge ’em and no, keep ’em), to snarky twitter-meme roundups (one and two). They been propagated (and re-propagated) by enough of my book-loving friends on social media, that I can understand why a different friend of mine threatened to cut a bitch if she (to paraphrase)

saw that “Marie Kondo is wrong keep all your old books including the Y2K guide to AOL” article one more time.

Okay, she just promised to yell a lot, not to “cut a bitch.” Maybe that’s what I’ll do if I have to see these articles too many more times.

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A Qualitative Judgement

Well, the decluttering death march continues at its snail’s pace.

Yeah, that’s hyperbole. Not so much about the “snail’s pace” bit, but more the self-indulgent and ham-handed analogy. After all, struggling with the quote-unquote burden of too much abundance in my life and home is the Firstiest of First World Problems, wouldn’t you say?

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Nesting

Mr. Mezzo and I spent last weekend playing tourist in Boston–a long weekend scheduled ostensibly to celebrate his birthday. In all honesty, that was just a convenient excuse to take a day off from work and enjoy the city sights without having to worry about T schedules or keeping a designated driver to get us safely home from the T station.

Our hotel room had a windowsill-sized balcony–seriously, I don’t think it was wide enough for me to close the door behind me when I stood out there. Perhaps because it wasn’t the kind of hotel balcony likely to get a lot of foot traffic, a small bird had built its nest under the corner of the balcony awning.

Back when I lived in the heart of Philly, I remember being constantly awestruck by the continued preponderance of nature and wildlife in that urban setting, and the unending creativity shown by these creatures in building their homes among the asphalt and concrete.

The epitome of blooming where one is planted.

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