This song came out when I was very young. It has always defined Independence Day for me.

I wake up every day grateful that I found a man who doesn’t abuse me. I didn’t have a lot of hope of that when I was young. I thought that was just my lot in life.

I don’t think that any more. I like what I wake up to every day. I have no intention of burning down this house (or praying it gets blown away in a tornado–good thing because I live in the wrong part of the world).

Now things are heading more in this direction these days. I feel so happy about that.

I have a lot to be thankful for every day. Even when people who like me have scheduling conflicts or emotional derailments of their own–that doesn’t change their basic affection for me.

I am loved now. And not just by the three people who live with me. No matter how loud my head is screaming that I’m a worthless whore and no one could love me.

I don’t have voices in the sense that a schizophrenic does. I just have really loud memories.

When I walked in to pick Shanna up from camp yesterday I was five minutes early. I was one of the latest parents. Shanna was almost crying because she was afraid I wouldn’t come get her.

Baby. I was five minutes early. I will always come for you. I need you so much. I think I need you far more than you need me.

She hasn’t been left much. Very few of her classes involve me going farther than the next room. She hasn’t had that many different baby-sitters and she’s known most of them as friends before they baby-sat. She’s only been on a couple unsupervised play dates.

I have to have a pretty ridiculous amount of trust in someone to leave my baby with them.

(Oh, and because I’ve been thinking it since you left that comment, DSH–you aren’t a hoarder. You are not the neatest person in the world but you aren’t a hoarder. There is a world of difference between having too much shit for the space you are in vs. hoarding. So don’t take my hoarding comments as being about you. H’okay?)

I also think that hoarders have an unfortunate set of psychological issues and they aren’t bad people. I don’t think they need shaming. I think they need help.

Today is going to be a fun day for me. I get to go clean out my friends basement. I’ve been itching to get my fingers on that mess for years and I finally got them nailed down to a date. This is my happy dance.

We all have our own weird compulsions.

They have a great house that they are having trouble using properly. Going from being a bachelor with a WHOLE HOUSE to having a wife move in with stuff to having children who get STUFF…

Sometimes you just gotta have a massive purge. Whereas I don’t get literally physically turned on by the process of cleaning or anything, my level of satisfaction with the results I get give me a big self-esteem bump for a while.

They have struggled with the difficulty of the mess in their house for more than five years. They have not been able to get through the always growing pile.

I’m going to go give them a basement that is functionally organized for storage and a lot of space to move around.

I’m fucking Santa Claus. Only I sweat. And move fast. And order people around.

But officially, this is my last free client. I’m going to start charging. It’s fun and all… but I’m good enough at this that I can and should be paid for doing it. I effect a lot of good for peoples lives. If a babysitter or a cleaning person deserves to get paid, so do I.

I can unbury a space that has felt claustrophobic and scary and dark in a very short period of time. I can work magic.

Not all magic looks like other magic. I’m not going to be poking nobody with needles to change how they are operating or crazy shit like that. (That’s my funny voice.)

We should try to take a lot of before and after pictures.

I have a natural talent for organizing and seeing potential in a given amount of space. I’m grateful for this ability. It has made my life a lot easier. I see patterns. I see combinations. I see organizational grid patterns nearly glow in the shit I look at.

“This goes with this. That goes with that. And the thing over there must be on a high shelf.”

It doesn’t sound impressive. But I am good at starting with some truly overwhelming amounts of material. Other people say, “It isn’t worth sorting. Get a dumpster.” I cackle with glee, rub my hands and say, “Ahhh! A challenge!”

I’m going to have a fun day. Then I will come home, pick up my family and go to a party. Because we were invited. And there will be a lot of babies there whom I haven’t met yet. Gotta go imprint on them young.

That’s how it works, yo.