But I will clean my house

Speaking of not cleaning my room…Lindsey is coming to visit on Monday for two weeks! I haven’t seen her since she left in October and since she left, my life has been about adaptation. It’s been growth. At work, in this self. I’ve been asked and asked myself to be stronger, more circular, more tidal. The tides are OK.

I keep thinking and stopping. This post may become worthless. I’ve been cleaning my room for her. Which nullifies everything I just wrote about, but there’s a difference between opening your door to an inner self and opening your door to a guest and having them sit in your dirt. Maybe those are the same things, I don’t know. No, they aren’t.

Lindsey is very aware of my dirt. My cluttered, eclectic artistic style as she calls it. A nice way of saying I hang on to too much shit and I don’t pick up a sponge enough.

So, dear, Lindsey. I am cleaning. And I just made art for your bedroom to make it looked like I actually decorated more in the 7 months that you have been gone. And I even cleaned my hair dryer for you because when you start to actually look at how you live sometimes, you realize that holding a hair dryer covered in hair spray goo is just not a nice way to live.

I hope my fanatically, sweated-over, unorganized clean house will look like a place you’d be OK to sleep in for two weeks. Please do not rearrange the items on my bathroom counter when you get here and I’m sorry if there are a few dust bunnies under your bedside table. I swear, I was on my knees hoping to catch them all.

I am rounded by the love of my friends. I am glad to have them all in one place again soon.

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