I wrote a while ago now about how hard and weird and rare it was to know what to do with myself on the weekends. That was a different blog and a different time. I didn't know it then, but I know now that I was running from things—from dealing with all the drama and emotion around my dad and my family, from personal relationships that weren't helping me grow, from cubicles that weren't feeding my soul, from routine, from consistency.

I didn't know what I wanted and I didn't know how to move forward. I wanted roots, but I was afraid to plant them.

And then we bought a house. And after a year of nagging and whining, Raz and I hired a team to help us make our living room the living room of my Pinter-dreams. They helped me create something that was decidedly adult, warm, welcoming, quirky, and in their words, perfectly "eclectic." More to come on that.

Raz will likely roll his eyes reading this because he's done *most* of the hard labor. Watching him put this room together has cemented my sense of what home should feel like. It feels goooood. I want to be in it all the time, even though I mostly stand in it and just look around. I've been nervous to hang out it in before photos were done. I'm getting over that. Thinking of being away now isn't as exciting or as romantic as it used to be. Every day after work I can't wait to get home, pet my furry monster greeters, and look at this beautiful place we've created.

One of the last things we needed to do to complete the room was get a bunch of wood to fill in one of our built-ins. I thought it would be a fun adventure to drive up north and find a wood pile. It didn't turn out exactly the way I envisioned, but, hey, it was pretty fun, and I got to play with my camera.

Here are some pics from that.