AmyMaidaWadsworth

So, I started reading one of Orson Scott Card's new novels, Invasive Procedures. I'm only 47 pages in, but I love it. I love his style, I love the way he changes POV, I love his voice. He's awesome and such a talent. I want to grab an audience the way he grabs me. I want to spark the mind the way he sparks mine. I told Maida about the dream I had the other night, and she said she thought it would make a good novel too. I want to write, but every time I look around my house, I'm reminded that writing probably shouldn't be a high priority right now. Sigh. But it's burning a hole in my brain.

I want to get organized. I woke up early this morning without setting an alarm, and all I could think about was how to organize the girls' bedroom. I moved furniture around in my head, tried to picture different colors of paint on the walls, tried to figure out a way to keep as much of our furniture as possible without encouraging the cluttered feeling that permeates my entire house. I'm not sure it's possible. The house is small and I have no storage and everyone in my house is a packrat. It doesn't help that none of us like to clean. I have to get creative because I have to make due with what I have. Limited budget, limited strength, limited energy. I've got three dressers downstairs that are entirely different in style and color. The carpet needs to be replaced. I would love to gut the place and start over, but that's just not an option. I feel like my house is a reflection of how I feel personally. I feel cluttered. It's time to clean the cob