last night's flowers




Clipping these bouquets is the first thing I do when I get home from work. Tim teases me, because to relax, I clean the apartment. But how can I do anything else? It's second nature to whisk open the blinds, clear the dishes, make the bed, and water the plants. I would not be home if I wasn't trying to make my space pleasant, I'd be somewhere fearfully reminiscent of work, doing what I'm told. Not that I mind making money. However, after only two Etsy sales, I am becoming intoxicated with the idea of properly working for myself. The eight dollars I've made seem somehow more valuable than the hundred-fifty I'll get paid for two shifts this weekend.