A day of organizing, Of ripping out shelf paper. Washing things. Tossing out. Rearranging. One and a half boxes unpacked and the kitchen making headway. After five hours at it, one would hope for more progress.

Out of chaos, order begins to emerge. In life, and perhaps in writing. 

Order comes in itty, bitty, tiny, small steps, not necessarily in broad, sweeping strokes. There is hope for the future after all.  

And as for Clancy, I know how he feels.