Hurricane.
The Christmas tree is still shining in all it's glory in the corner of the living room, like that awkward geek who came to the party last and the dollar ornaments are in shambles.
There are at least four guitars, both accoustic and electric, scattered here, mostly culminating in the couch area and then some.
The dirty laundry baskets are teeming and chilling in the dining room and the kitchen smells of burnt cookies.
Po runs around tearing down what he can and obligingly drags it near the bottom of the stairway for booby traps.
Boxes of hair dye, canisters of make-up, and hair utensils galore announce female prescence, contrasting the amount of gaming systems hooked into our shitty TV.
New reading material floats around freely and various writing, painting, and photography projects pepper the kitchen table more frequently than actual food does.
The fridge still contains red, orange, and green jello shots, reminding us we had and will have a great year, though it's debatable whether the shots are safe to consume anymore.
The door is rarely locked for the amount of traffic it endures.
And my home is chaos.
I have never felt more at peace.
Finally, finally, finally I have a reprieve from constant cleaning, nagging, shiningly spotlessly washing washing washing. I'm through. I'm comfortable.
Love this.
There are at least four guitars, both accoustic and electric, scattered here, mostly culminating in the couch area and then some.
The dirty laundry baskets are teeming and chilling in the dining room and the kitchen smells of burnt cookies.
Po runs around tearing down what he can and obligingly drags it near the bottom of the stairway for booby traps.
Boxes of hair dye, canisters of make-up, and hair utensils galore announce female prescence, contrasting the amount of gaming systems hooked into our shitty TV.
New reading material floats around freely and various writing, painting, and photography projects pepper the kitchen table more frequently than actual food does.
The fridge still contains red, orange, and green jello shots, reminding us we had and will have a great year, though it's debatable whether the shots are safe to consume anymore.
The door is rarely locked for the amount of traffic it endures.
And my home is chaos.
I have never felt more at peace.
Finally, finally, finally I have a reprieve from constant cleaning, nagging, shiningly spotlessly washing washing washing. I'm through. I'm comfortable.
Love this.