Slowly but surely, this place is becoming a home.

There are boxes, still, and pictures leaning against walls instead of hanging on them, but it's much more navigable now. There's no getting around the fact that the bedroom is small, but it's much improved from the obstacle course it was before. And I found my little black mesh bag full of quarters for laundry.

I still need more shelf space. Especially in the bathroom.

It's been easier to work on the apartment than to think about meeting the upcoming Jewish New Year without my sister. I've been thinking about her anyway.

I probably think about her more now than I did when she was alive, which saddens me. You have to understand that I was only twelve when she was first hospitalized. We didn't grow up together past that point. But, as my mother pointed out when I confessed, before, I always knew she was alive out there somewhere.

And now she's not alive out there somewhere.

I unpacked her down comforter today and refolded it into a comforter bag, awaiting a cover en route from BB&B and more appropriate weather for a comforter. It's one more item in exchange for one more answer we'll never get.

There are so many questions. The only question I don't have is why.