Perhaps, could surprise anyone who have been to my place lately in France, too.
The place where I lived, for the 15 years when I was married become slowly a place where we could barely move because so many books and papers my husband put everywhere, first on tables and chairs then on the ground too. Once, toward the end I did order them a bit - perhaps that was the beginning of our end together.
"I do not find anything any more!"
So what? I did need some space to live, myself.
Then I did live for myself for seven years, in the small house near Paris. At the beginning, it had almost nothing in it. Then, books arrived and somehow it filled up, more and more. From time to time, I did arrange my papers and even the books found places but then, a period of feeling less good would arrive and again it was fuller then I really liked to live in.
Now, if books come, or they go, or I buy a new bookcase! I now have four big and a smaller one. Still some books near my bed on the table, and one of the chairs near the sofa, but they do not stay long there. I read, or I dispose them where they belong.
The only mess is still my writing desk where lot of papers are one on the top of the others - still to be dealt with and not so easy to find. But I learned that it is even worth to make my bed in the morning, to signal myself: now your day to work, blog, etc. begins! And it is so much pleasant to look at while I am at my computer - as my bed chamber is also partly my workplace.
I even succeed to keep the kitchen in order - surprising myself almost day by day! Does it mean I am happy here? I do think so. (I wanted to write instead 'you bet')
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