Trashed

So my house is a fucking mess. Sometimes, you have to embrace the mess. Step around that Metro garbage bag full of junk mail and tissues near the kitchen door. You'll throw it away eventually. Maybe tomorrow!

But not now.

You tossed your clothes on the bathroom floor when you took a bath this morning. Guess what? They're still there! You'll just walk around them for now.

No one is coming over to witness your slovenliness. Why the fuck clean it up? It's not like there are cockroaches running around—that would completely creep you out to the extent that even YOU would clean things up. Nah, it's more like, for example, your desk.

What the fuck is up with your desk? Why haven't you even had a nodding acquaintance with the thought of sweeping aside the pile of CD-ROMs and old bills and crap that you know very well is still there after four months but don't know what to do with? Huh? Why?

The inner voice is raging, "WE'RE LIVING IN A SOCIETY!" but you're just going about your day and ignoring it. Hey, I know: run the dishwasher! Like a clean kitchen is a clean house. Okay, well, it's a step.

So, like a blind person, you just adjust your thinking. That GameBoy steering wheel lying on the floor that you never use, you'll just negotiate a path around that. Maybe one day, you'll actually get around to throwing it away! But at least you know (and better yet, your naked toes know!) where it is. The kitchen garbage, which has now run up the sides of the can, with you stupidly trying to gather up the loose ends of the bag to contain. Just throw it away! But somehow, you're powerless. The coffee cup that you used yesterday, which is still sitting on the windowsill, where you put it while admiring the nice day outside. Just put it in the dishwasher! Nah, it won't hurt to leave it there a couple more days.

Oh, the horror, and how wide it yawns.