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November 27, 2011
I vacillate between loving that my apartment is a colorful mishmash of stuff I've amassed over the years or that's been given to me -- bits of art made by friends and family, other people's trash that I treasure, rocks from a beach in Greece, a red parsons table I coveted 40 years ago, a light-up painting of Venice that was my grandparents' that I coveted even longer -- and wishing it were less crazy and more West Elm. But then someone comes over and marvels over all of it, and I'm reminded again why I love it so much.