This house is a vortex. It requires so much of us! Whenever I set something down, it disappears. Order tends to disorder: I want to write this above the front door. I wash dishes, and magically, a new pile appears. I think we should stop catering to the needs of this house. It's like a spoiled child. I think, yes, the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but the wheel that squeaks too often should be replaced.
1:20pm. I can't guess where the hours have gone. I'm not complaining---truly.