Every morning of my life is a series of trips. First, I awake and stumble out of bed, immediately tripping over a capsized pile of clothes from some clothes basket. On the way to the bathroom, I trip and stub my toe on a series of cd racks that don't even contain cds. Down the stairs to the living room, which is also the kitchen, I trip down the stairs, trip over the box of random brick-a-brack on the landing, then trip the rest of the way down. That's a lot of traveling before I even commute.
When I finally moved out of my parent's basement upon graduating from college, a small apartment near the lake with not a lot of storage was perfect. I had too much junk, but as long as I could shove it in the side room I could pretend it didn't exist. Then I met Nicole, my life changed, she moved in, and that side room suddenly had an avalanche. I'm pretty sure some poor sherpa is buried under there somewhere.
I guess I could solve the problem by giving things to charity and organizing my life. We could turn ourselves in to Hoarders, though I might commit homicide if they touch the stuffies. Seriously, you're not getting rid of my factory reject, cross-eyed crane game kitty, aptly named "Special Kitty." He's like a lost extra from the Island of Misfit Toys.
However, I'd much prefer to simply find a far bigger side room to hide the mess. That way I can make a bigger avalanche. Yes, and one day maybe get a little more organized. I still maintain it's an overrated concept. My mind is cluttered, why shouldn't everything else in my life be as well?
------Gabe
