The felicity of unbounded domesticity

I have not the pirates' enthusiasm on this one...I'm worn out. Day seven in the house, day three with all the stuff moved into it, and if I see one more box, bag, lid, crate, bin, newspaper sheet, hamper, tape roll, or sock, I'm going to go nutty.

Speaking of nutty (or seedy?), take a look at my friend:

He's got no fear of me whatsoever. I stand right inside the kitchen door and talk to him all day long, bang dishes, breathe threats and murder, and as long as that screen stays shut, he munches with impugnity. I realize, of course, that by putting birdseed out for him to eat, I am enabling him, but so be it. He's fun to watch...he eats the seeds in a very organized fashion, until the last few seeds are practially a single-file semicircle left on the patio. This way, I suppose, he doesn't accidentally miss one.

In other news, I have finished (for the time being) working on "my" room. The computer is set up, the printer is in place, the bookshelves are stocked, the craft boxes are in their best array...it's nice. This way, I can get stamps and scissors out all over the place without incapacitating our ability to eat at the kitchen table. (I can still hear the squirrel out there munching.) One's ability to entertain guests is severely hampered, after all, by the presence of crafting material upon the one and only table top in the house.