Well, I've done it. I've admitted I need help. I can't do this alone, and it's not fair to burden Tor or Cheryl with it. I can't make Herself live in such chaos anymore. I've contacted a professional organizer. With G-d as my witness, I will never trip over my carpet cleaner again. What did you think I was going to say? You'd think I had a history of dramatic announcements involving my mental health or something...
The back of the house is where theater's black magic happens. It's a place where empires rise and fall, where people love and hate, and the place where gods live and die. And yet, like the man in the movie said, it all turns out all right in the end. It's a mystery. Which is another word for miracle.
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