I've been looking at those shows about hoarding. Ha. Child's play. I coulda been the host of THAT show. They never make enemies with their own mothers, trying to explain that one really should dispose of boxes of books and doll clothes that had been shat in by raccoons. I'm sure I don't why the raccoons shit in their own nests. Perhaps it should be a lesson to all of us of what NOT to do.
So, I've got my mom's house in the back of my mind. Always. But as summer closes in and the A/C hums and drones, and the jungle creeps closer, I start to get a bit batty. And I'm thinking of raccoons. I feel a big purge coming on.
Empty boxes crying out to fulfill my fantasies of simplicity. I see the stuff huddling in corners, in stacks, and cluttering up my shelves tremble in fear. They are right to do so.