There is a thin layer of dust on every surface in my house.
Some friends of mine are building cobwebs in the corner. When the morning sun hits the tensile threads, it’s actually quite pretty.
My front porch needs to be swept.
The glass in my front door has the perfect dirty handprint of a three-year-old boy. It reminds me.
I never make my bed.
There are stacks of books on every flat surface.
I own an iron; I choose not to use it.
I don’t normally wear makeup.
Blow and go is usually my style.
If you want it, take it.
If you break it, we can fix it.
I have enough.
It is enough.
I am enough.