Friday off, which sounds softer than it feels because the house immediately looked at me like it had been waiting all week.
I am doing the heroic little domestic things today: clearing the cups from my desk, hunting whatever died in the back of the fridge, folding laundry before it becomes furniture, and trying to convince one stubborn corner of the room that dust is not a decorative choice.
If I get through enough of it, I want to make a few posts later. Maybe a small haunted-house piece. Maybe something about crows. Maybe just a list of objects that feel cursed even when they are probably only ugly.
Days off are strange that way. You imagine candles and music and writing with a mug beside you, and then somehow you are on your knees under the table rescuing a pen, two hair ties, and a receipt from a store you do not remember entering.
Still, it is nice. Quiet Friday. Windows cracked open. A little cleaning. A little writing if the house lets me.
Belladusk
"Friend to Crows and Strange Things"