Tour

7:41 a.m.

Dear Sister,

You have never been to our house, but you are in June. When we get married. I am Super Excited. In the meantime, here is a poorly-shot tour of our home. The photos are grainy; I am still getting to know my awesome new camera and I took all of these at six this morning, when it was dark and I was groggy and grumpy. I woke up early. It was tragic. Lately I have been having awesome dreams about corpses and having my uterus stapled together because it would not stop seeping blood everywhere, and dreams about being shot in the chest and as they dig around to pull out the bullet it pushes organ and ground flesh up through my throat and into the back of my mouth and the blood, the blood.

But.

Hi!

Photo tour!

This is Jelly Roll greeting you as you walk in the door.

















Keep coming, says Jelly Roll.

















Keep on coming.
















Just a little further.

















(The rage! The anger! The indignity of empty bowls! Fill them! Fill them! Who cares if I am morbidly obese? I must have full bowls at all times, or I will cut you! I'll cut you!)

Here are some books in the den:
















Good morning, Coltrane!

















Good morning, sister! How were those dreams? Eh? Eh? Anything about corpses falling down stairs?

















Here is the temperature (don't worry, 12 was the outside temperature):

















Some more books, in case you didn't believe me:

















Oh, look, a bathroom!

















Proof that you are never alone in our house, even in the bathroom:

(Or, The Idiots at Dawn:)
















Here is my side of the den couch, complete with fat phone, Target pillow and end table, and the book I never have time to finish.

















Here is Justin's side, complete with mini-fridge and both remotes. He's really good about handing you a drink. He's not as good about handing you the remotes. Just so you know.

















More books.






































Hey, remember when we found this in the cabin on our property? This cabinet? Remember? It's upstairs, in the living room. With the nice couch. Which is covered with a slipcover, because of The Idiots.

















I think the kitchen is my favorite room.

















































What's that spell, sister?

















Here's grandma's chair, in my art room. Coltrane sleeps on it a lot. Once Monk slept on it. It was weird.

















Here's my work table.

















That's all I felt like taking. And uploading. Blogger decided to take fifty million centuries to upload these pictures, so I left out some rooms. We weren't counting on Blogger sucking big time when we discussed this post last night. Those other rooms can just be a, um. A surprise. A surprise! The upstairs bathroom is a surprise! I bet your excitement and anticipation of the Upstairs Bathroom Surprise are off the hook.

I can't wait to see you.

Love,
sister
or
black sheep