“What are you doing?” DC calls from the next room. I’ve been in my closet longer than it’s taken Michigan to count votes.
“Sparking joy,” I holler from behind a mound of castoffs the size of a Volkswagen.
“Need some help?” He thinks this sounds fun.
“I have to change my life first.”
DC’s gotten used to my idiosyncrasies, which include spurts of maniacal cleaning, organizing and redecorating, but this time is different. It merits an …
To read the full post visit: