Hi.

It's getting cold. Fall has definately settled in and winter is on it's way.
The summer escape is packed up and sitting in the driveway, ready to unload, clean and take for storage until next May.
I've started nesting. Cleaning, sorting, and that overall calm of slowing down for the winter months is cascading over me. Every once in a while I'll be sitting in one of my favorite spots in the house and I'll get this warm feeling like everything is right in the world. What a crock of shit that is. But, I'll take it if only for those few seconds.
Does this thing not have spellcheck? Am I really left to my own devices to not sound like a complete moron?
The worst part is how neglected the house was during the summer, while I was away. B's not exactly a housewife. Numerous times I'd come to a sink full of dishes that were started there when I left. Neither one of us are what you'd call studious in the house upkeep department. The only difference is, it gets to me eventually and I lose my shit. Just like everything else, I suppose. It gets to me and I lose my shit.
Today is one of those days where it's getting to me. I have yet to lose my shit, but it's there lurking in the background. Ready to emerge like a fucking jungle cat on a toddler behind the glass at the zoo.
I have a love hate relationship with this house. I've been here so long and it holds so many memories. It's been my adult refuge. I'd like to spend the colder months taking care of her and giving her a facelift. I feel like I go through this every year, but this year will be different. I feel like I say that every year, too. But this year will be different.