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In Which We Agree to Burn Down our House and Start Over

January is always the very worst month.  Flu? Check (and Yes, we get our vaccines as we tend to not take medical advice from Gwyneth Paltrow).  Post-holiday discovery that I have no pants that fit? Check.  Post-holiday realization that my children have been on their devices for 35 consecutive days without a break? Check.  Post-holiday regret that I over-decorated again and it will now take me 11 months to clean it all up? Check.  New Year's epiphany that another year of my life flew by in like 5 seconds and I will be dead before I know it without having become a real author?  Check, check, check.

And even worse than impending death is coming home with all the newly purchased toys and gifts and having to find something to do with it.  Seriously, if I'm ever kidnapped by Russian intelligence and they want to torture me, all they have to do is fill my cell with clutter and then keep filling it up or messing it up after I've organized it.  If I'm really on top of things,…

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