J'Espere

True Story. I am not a minimalist. Don't be shocked. Over the years, I have read a ton of books about organizing, decluttering, making room for more by having less. I went through a phase when I was a teenager (thus procuring me the nickname "Buddha") when I tried to get rid of everything. I remember reading some novel in which the main character's sister did this, and the parents ended up just sneaking all of her stuff up into the attic. In the story she subsisted on something like three pairs of socks and a pair of jeans. It didn't work out for her. It didn't work out for me. I was fantasizing about living out of a backpack, kind of like a hitchhiker. Doesn't fly for a southern girl. In what kind of world do you not hang on to your mother/aunt/grandmother/someone you met once's....something.     If you've been a reader for a while, this might not sound like anything exciting or new from me. "She's reading a new organizational book, she...

We were in the house, admiring the sheetrocking and the framing of walls to come. I was comfortably in a camping chair in the living room while Matt wandered around, testing things, looking at things, trying to figure out how we were ever going to get ourselves to a point where we move in to this beast. “The water’s back on!” came an excited shout from the upstairs bath along with the sound of running water. “Yay!” I responded, studying paint colors (who knew there could possibly be so many shades of white?) “That’s so exciting!” “What the….?” Was the next statement to come from upstairs, followed by things that I’m not posting on the internet. “What’s going on?” I called. “They didn’t reattach the drain under here!” So all the water was just going into the vanity. This after we were just discussing ways to salvage the upstairs vanity and make it at least sort of decent while waiting for our lotto money to come in. One step forward…how many steps back? When pulling down ...