Nesting

I think I'm really really happy to be home in my flat for a while. I'm feeling all nesty. Banana bread baking in the oven (a nod to Matt, who is my God of the Spatula), laundry churning, dishwasher chugging, list assembled for production of various meals over the weekend, including a chunk of my extended family for brunch on Sunday. (Youngest sisters, their mom, S's guy, his kids). F on his way after work, still toting his cold.

I have a long list of things I should be doing for school, and it's all simmering... but the season change is gripping me and instead I want to finally tackle those five boxes of files I haven't dealt with since I moved. And my closet is bellowing at me to reorganize my summer/winter clothes. Something is making me involuntarily climb the ladder to the space above the kitchen/bathroom and Deal With the box of rubbermaid-ish things I can't imagine ever needing.

This is the kind of impulse that results in every piece of paper I ever owned being scattered across the dining room table in a great fury of organization, until I get distracted by another shiny object and abandon the project. For months. So I'll resist. But maybe make a batch of blueberry muffins. Wheat-free. For S's new -- gasp -- stepkids.