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December 14, 2007
I had this fantasy that my new house would be tidy and clean, shining. A place for everything, and everything in its place. My old apartment, the former wood working shop in a Victorian coffin factory converted to lofts, was hard to keep clean with the dust of ages sifting from the wood ceilings and brick walls, the dirt and car exhaust coming in the front door with me, the rough cement floors. I thought the new house would be a new life, one of neatness and order, but I reckoned without my ability to create chaos wherever I go.