Coming in the back door, my first thought was "thank goodness there's no funk!" After six weeks, it was highly possible that something horrible could have happened. Or worse, nothing. And my house just stunk on its own.
My second thought occurred when I opened my top drawer. "Who the hell needs so many socks!" I had gotten by with two pairs the previous month. (One sock was sacrificed for my poofy Christmas Eve bun. Does that even count?) There are over fifteen pairs of socks in there right now. Four of which are snowboarding socks. I don't even snowboard. Is our house really that cold? Could we just turn up the heater? That many socks seems excessive.
My third thought, and I should explain that there were really only these three thoughts as we had taken a redeye from San Francisco to Chicago, which is no joke. Red eyes from less than three hours of sleep. That third thought came after opening my third drawer. "Who the hell lives here? A depressed hipster?" Every piece was brown, cream, white, or black. Do I not believe in color? I finally found a turquoise summer shirt to pair with a black scoop necked sweater. I am currently wearing my only other piece with color, a dark blue green sweater. I'm not even sure it counts. I don't know what I'll wear tomorrow.
As much as communal living with 20 or so in-laws is educational, so is coming home. I'm a little shocked at who I am here. My bathroom is nice. The renovation we did looks awesome. My room is kind of a mess. I'm pretty sure that I haven't spent enough time/energy/money on making it restful and organized. Or, I should clean it more often. My clothes are depressingly ugly. I really need to find somewhere else for fashion, besides Target. Who knew that six weeks away would clarify who Bekah is better than weeks and months of self reflection.
