There are sentences I know I would never, could never, write. Reading high-end shelter mags, feeling twangs of pen envy.

October 23rd, 2014, 3pm

It was 28°C with few clouds. The wind was light.

Is it too late to be a 22-year-old unpaid intern for Elle Decor or House Beautiful and learn my Adirondack, Bauhaus, Chinoiseries from the ground up?

I flip through features on East Coast charm and European travel-inspired sunroom redecorations and wish I could comment on how a space resembles the architectural style I recall from summers spent in similar wallpapered, well-appointed rooms by the sea, dropping names of artistic influences gleaned from years of study or life experience. But I’m too old to start acquiring a textbook knowledge, too young to claim firsthand knowledge of notable eras, too timid to fake it, too tired to fight for even a taste of that alternate life.

So, I sigh and settle for the sentences my life allows. I babyproofed this room myself, I say to no one, picking off the adhesive that’s been gathering debris in hues of last season’s It color. I envy you, says no one. Ever.

David Wade and Christine said thanks.

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Shiloah Matic-Ma

Life enthusiast. Child-wildlife photographer. Part-time writer. Full-time mom. Amateur everything. Documenting my messes at

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