Dammit, I wish one of my personalities loved to clean.
It’s Sunday. A day of rest. Or a day of preparation.
Marissa, the greatest-girl-on-earth, is going to spend three days with us in a few weeks to help me get started on my 2017 Remodel. It’s going to be physically painful, but not emotionally painful. I am ready to let loose of items I’ve had for many years and, even without opening my closet door and attempting to peek in, I know there are lots of clothes that will be donated next month.
When we bought our condo over 25 years ago, Leslie and I each walked through the front door and naturally gravitated to one end of the house or the other. One bedroom had a bathroom inside, and the other had access to the patio and a bathroom with a window right outside the bedroom.
At the start, we were both in love with everything about everything. My room was like a sanctuary, and it stayed that way for many years. And then about ten years ago, it changed. A friend of Leslie’s painted her bedroom, and she continued to rearrange and remodel. Two years ago, we had the kitchen remodeled. We are still in love with the kitchen, and Leslie is just going to change out a bedspread for a new look.
Me? I’m stuck. Red ceiling, black and white wallpaper border, a shelving unit braced to the wall. A pack rat’s paradise, if you will. Leslie tells me: “The 80s called and they want their room back!” What are the 80s gonna do with all this crap?
By the way, does anyone need a brass headboard?