| Junk Why is this life so papery. I'm surrounded by paper. Everywhere I look is paper. Paper that says I owe the phone company a million dollars, come and get it you bloodsuckers! Garbage everywhere, it keeps me warm, but it piles up around me. So me and the devil just sit here and eat chicken noodle soup and tuna sandwiches and wonder. What would life be like if I wasn't always involved with these silly scraps of paper, moving numbers around on them, doing the tasks that they want me to do. And once you're done with them, then more come along, with more tasks and numbers, on and on forever. I've grown so used to it that I can't separate myself from it anymore. I don't know where the junk ends and I begin. My friends and family call me a mess, make fun of me for living in a dump full of trash, well they just don't get it. Why bother? Its just junk, its not like its evil. I saw a thing on the news that made me laugh. The city found a man that lived in a house so full of garbage that it filled the rooms up to the ceiling. There were passages through the garbage, but that was it. 90% of the volume of this guys house was trash. They told him to clean it up, he didn't want to. He was crazy. If my place ever gets that bad I'll probably be insane like him so it won't bother me anyway. Cleaning up is fun, but takes so much energy. What I need is a maid, preferably a teenage french girl who says things like "Oh, monsieur, thees place ees such a mess, let me clean thees up, and monsieur maybe I should clean you first." But that is both unlikely and morally shaky, so we'll stay away from that hornets nest. The only other alternative is to move out as soon as it gets intolerable. That's the one I'm looking at for now. Unless the maid plan pans out. |