March 18th, 2008

spring

Peoples In My House

Today the window guys have come: Mark, Bud, and Andy, and are replacing the windows and the sliding glass patio door. I'm holed up in the study until they get to the windows in here.

I would be the first to admit our place is cluttered -- between books and electronic toys, it builds up, and of course having two cats tracking litter and shedding freely doesn't help. It's not that it's -dirty-, just disorganized, and there never seems to be enough time -- or more importantly -- enough space to get everything sorted. At times we makes forays into orderliness, and every month or so I pack up a box or two of paperbacks to ship off to the Women's Prison Book Project, and I've gotten better about Throwing Things Away and not buying silly crap.

Still, why do I feel the need to apologize for not keeping a perfect house, feeling as though I should have cleaned better so the workmen don't think less of me? I can't understand this urge, which keeps welling up.
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