No. 6

I’ve never considered myself a homemaker.  Or a housewife for that matter- after all, I'm not married to my house.  But really, that must be the most dreadful word on the face of this planet- “homemaker”- in any language really.  It’s right up there with “moist”, "hobbies", and “urinary incontinence”, although I guess the latter is more of a phrase per se.  Still, my point is that even though I may have a PMS recovery room, a porcelain doll room, and a papier mâché room, I am not, by any means, a maker of homes.  My home just is: as I exist, so does it.

Still, sometimes I wonder, what if my home isn’t big enough.  What if a woman looks at my home and thinks, “Wow, that’s really small for a home.”  I mean, what if my home doesn’t measure up and I just don’t know because maybe I haven’t seen enough other homes?  How big is average, and how big is large, and does it fluctuate if your home is underwater?  Life these days is just full of so many conundrums.  It’s like you can’t even breathe without finding yourself caught up in one so…all of a sudden.

Well, I’ve also come to the conclusion that pink is definitely not my color.  It’s too spring funeral, or late afternoon puke if you ask me.  And to think, it used to be my favorite!

Good-bye diary.