It’s no secret that I’m a slob with a drip.

I’ve been full of nervous energy this week which has resulted in the accomplishment of two things that have been on my list for months.

(About a year ago I started a List of Three that involved writing down three things that absolutely had to be done on that day. I no longer keep the list at three things, and I no longer require myself to complete everything on the list, but it’s still something I do each morning. My God, this paragraph is excruciating. “Every day I make a list of stuff I need to do and I bet you’ve never heard THAT idea before, right?!” I’m wasting your time.)

Anyway, our bathroom faucet has been drippy for over a year. In the middle of the night I can hear it dripping, which leads to me lying awake and singing songs in my head to the rhythm of the drips (mostly You Light Up My Life by Debby Boone).


(I have no idea why the word Rage appears on the screen near the 10-second mark, but it feels appropriate because of the drip, and by ‘drip’ I mean THE drip. I’m not calling Debby Boone a drip.)

Yesterday morning we had drips. Yesterday afternoon we did not.
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This morning my bookshelf looked like this:
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This afternoon it looked like this:
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Tonight it looks like this:
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Top shelf: A few of the books I love.
Second shelf: Books that inspire.
Third shelf: Books full of art.
Bottom shelf: All of my journals and sketch pads.

2025 is for Swedish Death Cleaning, and I’ll bring you along if you want.

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