Alternate title: Coming to Terms with CDCS (that’s “compulsive decor changing syndrome”, which I’ve just made up but most certainly have.)
Yesterday I sat at my kitchen table and railed against myself.
On Sunday, we came home from spending the afternoon at a friend’s house and had barely pulled into the driveway before I was already getting snappish. Jeremy rebuked me gently (he’s good at that) and I sighed and confessed that I was just not happy to be home. I had already been struggling–see this embarrassing rambling on my Failure Friday–something about being home was pressing on my last nerve.
So I sat at the table after I had finished my coffee and my reading and I asked myself what was wrong with me, why I was ruining my day before it started, why the house was wearing on me so much. I googled things like “my house is making me miserable” and “help, erin, me” and “its me erin help help” and read about Highly Sensitive People (which was like reading a treatise on Clive) before deciding that what I really needed was some sort of project to complete.