Everything in Its Right Place

There is the most giant stack of boxes behind me, oh my.

You see, I got up at nine a.m., which is a rare occurrence for me as I work nights. But yesterday, I fought off a wobbly, eye-blinking drowsiness at nine p.m. and decided to fuck it and just go to bed. Fast forward to to ten in the morning, with two cups of coffee in me--man, oh man, was I ready.

I was a mad man. I tossed all the living room into half-organized bins, shoved the furniture to one side of the room, swept and mopped, and upon drying, I did the same with the other side.

When you have hardwood floors and three cats, things get gross. Cat hair everywhere: under things, on things, forming a near carpet on all your linens... I managed to move an antique 8 ft tall secretary desk with a heavy glass-doored hutch all by myself. We call it "The Big Kahuna." My dad restored it, and it ended up in my Mom's house.

Heavy. As. Fuck.

I ended up with an entire bankers box of candles. I thought to myself, "How does that happen?" I shortly realized that I had bought most of the candle holders. Oops. That's just facilitating candle-shopping addictions.

I guess the living room is clean for now, but the displaced items, like refugees in Darfur, cannot be forgotten. We must persevere. A glove with strips dangling from the ends with feathers for the cats to play with, those need a place. My knitting books, having taken over the living room, those need a place. My pointless knick-knacks, those need a place.

It's 8 p.m. and, while I know things need a place, I just can't be bothered.

Maybe I'll put up the Christmas tree. Atleast I know what place that goes in.