I suppose it explains how I can live with myself that I find it endearingly cute in a pathetic way that in the disaster that is my material world I think, for a few seconds at least,  that tearing open the cellophane wrapping of a new high-faluting message pad with 4 separate pads all locked together and able to be attached somewhere sensible with magnets on the back will order my life and home and mind. Real Simple, indeed! I just wrote Real Richmond on one pad, Friends of James River Park on another, my Mom’s name on another and ME (which really means everything else in the world except me) on the last one.

Problem solved–except that I left it in the other room cause it’s too messy in here and soon enough when I need it I won’t be able to remember where I left it.  I’m tempted to write the book, The Year of Living Messily, but it would be torture finding all my notes–and then I’d have to read them and relive this messiest of years.

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