It's odd to have the house to myself. The parents will, thankfully, be back on Friday. Dad's still out west for the funeral and mom's on the Island somewhere (I assume Gander since she's not in St. John's as of yesterday night when I tried calling). Do you recall the story of the shoemaker and the elves? Came home yesterday at lunch and the dishes had been washed and placed on the counter. Nice thought, yet so very much distressing. With the house to myself I tend to regress to mess... I have paint, glue, stamps, inkpads, pressed flowers and wool everywhere, or atleast in the dinning room. If said elves came to my room they'd find much of the same mentioned above but in larger quanities with the addition of an unmade bed, peacock feather scraps on the floor and paintbrushes everywhere. They'd probably go on strike the moment the bedroom door opened. Even by my standards it's disgraceful.

Eight days left.