It's shocking to me how ugly my house is.
It shouldn't be, I mean, I work from home (I use the term "work" loosely here), which means I'm firmly ensconced in my fugly house most hours of the day. But somehow, I started accepting the fug as normal, and that's when the wheels came a-flyin' off the train.
For years, YEARS, I've worked in an office (read: my dining room) that was painted such an atrocious shade of green that it made me actually angry to look at the walls. I hear green is supposed to be soothing, but let me tell you, this sort of "cat pee on plasterboard look" is what they probably paint prisons with if they want the inmates to start brawling. It's that bad.
Or it was.
This weekend, because I have a party in which people may actually show up and see the fug in person, I realized it was time for a change.
And now.
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All right, everyone, let’s do a self-esteem exercise: Wrap your arms around yourself and say, “I like me!” Did that make you feel better? Or just a bit ridiculous? I know. There’s a fine line between healthy self-esteem and, uh, being conceited.


Every fall, as the leaves redden and fall off the branches and pile up on my lawn, the magazines pile up in my mailbox, each whispering and begging me to open them, hoping I'll add their goodies to my Christmas list. Mostly I roll my eyes, wonder how I got on the mailing list for Geriatrics Quarterly, and throw them into the recycling bin. Occasionally, I'll catch my pack rat 8-year-old trying to stealthily make off with Cardiac Surgeon Monthly (I'm just sure he's saving his pennies to buy me a portable defibrillator!), which is always an epic battle of the wills, but usually I go unchallenged.

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