Home at the moment

I often feel pretty melancholy, but sometimes even my own mopiness can't overcome the sweet stuff around me. I'm not in a cubicle. U2 is singing to me. I'm throwing some stuff into a pretty blue pot on the stove. There are red snowflakes on the table runner. There are also applesauce stains and clementine peels on the table runner, but it's still got red snowflakes on it, and it's not in a cubicle. And right now, at least for right now, the boys are sitting around a huge pile of legos on the floor in their room making airplanes that shoot bullets and axes and footballs and dragons. And all the baby really wants is a continual supply of saltines, which is reasonable.

I would like to feel grateful more often. It feels nice.