I am cleaning.
It's funny that it requires me to literally tear my house apart to find the root of the problems. A table that, placed too close to a vent, collects a ridiculously large quantity of dog hair. A closet that has bunch of junk, and needs it all reassessed. It takes me all week to accomplish all of the things I need to around here. It does help, though. It feel so much better.
And, luckily, I don't seem too attached to all of my junk. I have managed to de-junk so much of my life in the last year. Things are things.
But sometimes I do wish for a museum to store the things I find beautiful. It would be such a strange mix.
But when it comes down to it, my mind is my museum, and it contains all that I love. I suppose I'll have to be content with the "admit one only" sign outside. Others might peek in the window, but ultimately, it's mine.