Crispy morning

It's a crispy winter morning here - icy even. I'm sitting at the desk with the heater right beside my knees and thinking about cleaning the house, moving into the studio, marking essays and how I'm not actually doing any of those things. Bear and I had a conversation last week about how our house looks like our bedrooms did when we were sixteen. But now it's an entire house that's in a state of chaos. There's not a single surface clear of piles of paper, books, clothes, works of art and random junk. Now I have a studio (great big freezing shed a five minute walk from home) I have no excuse for using the house as a workspace. Well I guess I'd better get onto it and move all my junk over there so we can have a front room again. Poor bear has started lamenting that he can't remember when we last had a meal at our kitchen table, because it's buried under the piles of stuff that have taken over the house. Maybe it's an alien plot and all the stuff is secretly multiplying at night - so every time I clear a space, it is magically consumed by more colonizing stuff.