Damn it. I am doing it again. This is the last time I will make a home out of mere material structure. If this house ever becomes less than a home, "home" will just have to become a space inside my head, a state of mind. In fact, isn't this really what home is?
Day after day, I travel between hardware, paint, and furniture store, click through pages on the web, spend countless hours and too many dollars gathering various and sundry goods that might "make this house a home." I moan over my failure to acquire or accomplish an item on my list, argue over someone else's incompetence, tally time and effort and lament a glaring lack of return. And for what? So that at the end of the day - after I have put away tools, assembled an evening meal, and finally kicked off my shoes - I might feel at home?
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