Succumbed

Mind bending - that is what my daily life has become. All at once, ambition surmounts production. or so it would seem.

As I write this, I see, in my peripheral, the sleeve of my cozy housecoat; it is a fine mixture of soft fleece and Golden Retriever fur. Suddenly, I long for a someone to come into my home with the biggest masking tape lint roller and eradicate it and me of every single shedded blonde fluff - make me clean again, please?

And as I sit here, supposedly doing my homework, I look around and take stock of the state of my affairs and promptly pull a blanket over my head. I have succumbed.

Clothes on the bathroom floor - panties run a muck, lame small town newspapers litter the floor, shoes times a billion lay in wait - ready to trip you. Dishes, oh my god - the dishes, tighten under the grip of dried oatmeal...

and I think, "I am stuck here until April." I must succumb. There is no way my house is going to stay clean... I.must.let.it.g- g- g- go. I must live in the mountain of clean and dirty laundry. I must forget that I have a dresser, it is now a table my bedroom TV sits on. I must forget I have a vacuum. I must forget that I have hardwood floors, not a blonde shag carpet. I must forget.

I have truly taken on too much. Shit.