Houses are so fickle. You leave them for only a few days, and they give you up for dead and start smelling like paint and sawdust again, as if to give the impression that they've been unlived in for decades. It's like they suddenly get desperate and want someone, anyone, to come and fill the gap, so they put themselves back on the market. They can't help it, I guess. It's instinctive.
Now at the crack of dawn we got home from Delaware and since I couldn't really sleep when I was in the car, I fell gladly into the arms of my poor, deserted, still-unmade bed and started making up for lost time.
Couldn't be happier to be back. The house hasn't started smelling right again yet, but give it a day or two.
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