Home is where the heart is.

I'm tired...physically and emotionally drained, plus a little high from magic marker fumes I think. I lost count of the boxes of books after 14, it's probably closer to 20 now, plus a few in the basement that we didn't have room on the bookshelves for. Can you believe that I took 3 big bag fulls to the Library for their sale? All this stuff just makes me want to start handing things out on the street corners to people. I've found Freecycle quite liberating lately.

Ah, but life goes on despite my mental state. We should know this weekend if we get to winter on Porter Street or in an apartment. Just knowing where we are heading in a few weeks would ease some of the anxiety. I always tend to make mountains out of mole hills, but I've built this one up to rival Mt. Everest. I have peaked in my stressed-out abilities.

I was contemplating tonight about leaving this house, and honestly, I feel nothing. I'm not sure if I am numb because of stress or I have really matured to the level of not having an overwhelming attachment to another thing. I brought both of my babies to this house, watched them crawl, then run and climb. I have gardened more than I have since I was a child, growing up in Idaho. I have painted nearly every square inch of these walls, and cleaned it all over and over (and over) again. There were a lot of memories made inside these walls, and out in the fresh country air too. But the really important things are those 2 beautiful little girls snuggled up in their beds, and my big teddy bear of a husband...those are the things I need to feel content and at home.

Even if we have to end up living in a van...down by the river.

T