Scene:
A girl in her pajamas, sitting on a broken vinyl futon, on her laptop. Hair is standing straight up on end. Ben Sollee is singing in the background about a change that's going to come. A ferret is under the broken futon making disturbing sounds. On the coffee table: a box of swiss cheese crackers, Palmers Tummy Butter, Prenatal Vitamins, an apple core, empty pudding cup, 3 candles, 4 empty coffee mugs, black nail polish, various papers, tic tacs, 2 other types of lotions.
Girl screams, runs into kitchen, picks up pizza box and throws it across the apartment. End of scene.
I'm sure you got my point.
I'm never even really at home so how did my apartment get to be such a festering shit hole?
It takes me a couple of hours to get in the shower after I wake up. It's like a momentous task that requires plenty of preparation time. Then I get read, takes about 45 minutes, then I try to find something to wear but my options are severely limited. Must go shopping. Oh right, can't.
Somehow I absolutely must find it in myself to get up and clean this mess, and keep it clean.
Maybe tomorrow.
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1 comment:
Blah. Ours is gross, too, but it's because we do a whoooolllle lotta living on that couch. Let me borrow the maid when you're done, eh?
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