As a child I was lazy. At puberty, I couldn't tell whether I was lazy or not. I didn't have the ambition to think about it. When my mother would ask me to go out and get some wood for the wood stove, I would bring back more than I could possibly carry, because I didn't want to have to go back for more.

As a teenager, I don't think of myself as being lazy because I get up early every morning and go to work, and I work long hours, but there are certain responsiblities at work that make me want to sleep. This has nothing to do with working long hours. I don't mind working long hours. If I have to speak with a psychiatrist, I would ask him to explain to me exactly what it is about some jobs that turn me off.

For instance, I don't mind mopping the floors, but I dislike the job of having to sweep the floors before mopping. There is a lot of junk in our laundry room that hasn't been touched in years, and no one in my family seem to care enough to remove the junk. I don't mind painting but I hate it when I have to get the ladder ready, do the clean up after the painting job is done and put everything away.

Vacuuming, I don't do it very often, but when I do it, I really enjoy the chore for its exercise component, but then I can't bring myself to get the vacuum cleaner out and then to return it to its original place. I hope the day will come when household appliances like vacuum cleaners would work like robots, where all we need to do is program them to turn on, off, do the job and then return to their original positions.

My mom, dad, sister and I have lived in our home for 18 years, and there has always been talk of moving. The talk is usually brought on by a leaking roof, repainting the house or rowdy neighbors. When you own a house you learn to live with its imperfections. You accommodate yourself to them, and like your own shortcomings, you find ways to accept or ignore them.

Our house provides me with a simple pleasure every time I come home to it. I am welcomed to familiar things when I enter, and I am warmed by some ambience, which may merely be dust, but it is our dust and I like it. There are treasures everywhere that remind me of the past, but it's not a sad place because all the things left undone hold great hope for the character of the people who live here.

The talk of moving came up at the dinner table a few weeks ago. Jane was only half listening, but at one point, she looked up from her plate, gazed around the room and asked idly, "Why would we want to move away from home?" Days later, I asked my mom "Mom how much is our house worth?" After a long silence, she responded, "Not much with all the junk around, and furthermore, it's an old house." After much thought on her response, I said, "Mom I don't think anyone can pay in dollar amount what this house means to me. This house will never be for sale, it's not for sale." Just as our house is not for sale, it will never be for sale, so is my CHARACTER, it will never be for sale, it is not for sale. My character means a lot to me, it has great value, it's precious, it has worth that no amount of money can buy.



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