
Did laundry tonight and it feels so good, so rooted. To see our old socks and shirts, and refold them, all fresh and new.
All is not lost or buried under rubble and plaster dust.
Clean wash. Clean slate.
An ongoing quest for the meaning of life. Does true happiness exist in a Tory Burch turquoise-trimmed sheath, a MarieBelle Dark Chocolate Croquette bar, a rose garden, a rocky Maine beach, a daughter's eyes, an inky star-sprinkled sky, hours of computer keystrokes that tell a story--or all of the above?
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