This hardly warrants its own thread, but sadness, when I'm under its influence, always accompanies an inflated sense of self-importance. And that feeling, of course, that no one else in the world has ever liked their house as much as I like mine. I've lived here for 2 years, but really I've only spent about 1 year here, with all the traveling I've done. It's funny, then, that this house I spent so much effort trying to not be in is so hard to leave. Gosh, I remember the day I moved in like it was yesterday!* I cannot believe how quickly time passes. Or how I've managed to put off mowing the lawn for 2 entire years.
Um... discuss?**
*I will remember this even more acutely tomorrow, when I move my bed from the position it has occupied for 24 months and find a billion condom wrappers, hairballs (mine and cat's) and any number of forgotten panties.
**You don't really have to discuss. I can acknowledge my overblown sense of self-absorption.



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