Yesterday I did nothing but work, which was probably the best thing I could have done, mental-health wise. By 8 a.m. I had clothes on the line and the vacuum cleaner running. I cleaned Paul's room top to bottom and moved my stuff back into it. Then I cleaned the whole rest of the house, de-cluttered the rooms that had taken the overflow of our crowded living situation, washed floors, washed window screens . . . distracted myself mightily with dirt battles; then did a giant grocery shopping; cooked a special dinner for Tom (steak au poivre, fresh corn salad, homemade peach ice cream); and then fell into the deepest night's sleep I've had for days.

So on this Monday morning I'm feeling pretty good. I'm looking forward to beginning my work day in my own study. I've got the standing desk set up by a window; I'm using, of all things, an ironing board as an overflow workspace. I've got a dining-room chair by the other window, next to a small stack of poetry books I'm reading. Everything is clean and bright, if spare. I'll even start off by doing my exercise class in my own space, instead of shoving downstairs furniture around to make room for my mat.

James called yesterday, so that was cheering. Paul texted photos of the dog in his apartment and of his little bedroom, which looks cozy and comfortable. And Tom, who knows how to cheer me up, staked out plans for a new garden bed in the back yard.

Here's a shot of my room, prepped for poetry--