It’s probably the changing of the seasons.

Or being without a car.  Because even when you don’t want to go anywhere, you still like the freedom of the knowledge that you can go somewhere.

And it could just be me.

It’s probably just me.

There’s nothing technically wrong but I sort of am standing here disgusted with all the things.

And thinking thoughts rapid fire ….

This house feels so constantly dirty.
No one seems to know how to return anything to its home.  Ever.
Bergen lost at least three of his school books over the course of this single day.
Ryder was rifling through the trash in the kitchen and as I grew increasingly irritated at him I vaguely recalled one of my children reminding me that we are out of dog food and so his pilfering feels more reasonable and I feel like a terrible dog owner.
I suddenly don’t care for anything on my walls and want to give it all to the thrift store.
Do I own a single piece of furniture not weather beaten or scratched?
It’s probably all the lack of sugar that makes me feel this way.
Who am I kidding – I haven’t really entirely given up on sugar.
I think I’ll go make a cup of tea soon.
That’s it – I’m rearranging the living room furniture at least.
Did someone get undressed behind the sofa, like two years ago, and leave all of their clothing in a pile here?
For the love, I need to get this TV mounted on the wall.
Can we move already?
I have to wait until tomorrow to watch This Is Us, but I bet if I could drink a warm cup of English Breakfast tea and watch Randall figure out his life I would feel better.
Pretty sure there are thirty neighborhood dogs barking their ever-loving heads off tonight.
I’m over the color blue on these walls too.
I own too much furniture.  Too many tables.  Whatever will I do with them all?
I just boxed up a bunch of stuff off the walls that no longer gives me joy.
You know what also does not give me joy?
Weird blank spots on the walls and little nails everywhere.


When you live in a home with two adults, one adult looks to the other adult at some point during a regular old evening and says half of these things – or all of these things – out loud.  Sometimes they might laugh in between these comments.  Commiserate.  Pat a shoulder or lend a hand.  Maybe offer comforting words or chide the other person out of their odd mood.

When you are the only adult in a house, you find some other ways of coping.   Of talking out loud, so to speak.

That’s what I did here.

Thanks for listening.