I'm here. Home. Norah Jones is singing to me and the livingroom is warmly lit and cozy. I'm sitting here wondering if it perhaps it's a dream? Perhaps all this isn't mine-the big backyard with the elusive peacock, the wide livingroom window, the little porch- perhaps I simply hoped until it felt real.
No, I believe it is real.
I have a real house.
I have a new job starting next week.
I'm pretty damn happy
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