File 77 - Cycle of the Crap Collectors

I'm on the ledge.  Not the literal ledge, but the figurative ledge.  I couldn't be on the literal ledge.  Not in this house.  Every ledge in our house is covered in shit.  Not literal shit.  Figurative shit. You get what I'm saying, right? My mind is on the figurative ledge because the literal ledge is littered with figurative shit.  It is a quarantine quagmire.

I mean, there are the common crap collectors. The garage, for example. Does anyone actually park in their garage? For more than half of the year, ours is a glorified shed. Filled to the brim with camping gear, outdoor toys and random items that were picked up from garage sales, when going through one of the many DIY phases. Don't worry. I am going to get to them!  You can't rush flipping flair.  Also, there has to be space for the twenty garbage and recycling receptacles.  The regular garbage bin. The green bin. The blue bin. The black bin. The new garbage bin that you got, because your old bin's lid had warped and you panicked when you saw lots of flies.  The replacement blue blue bin that you had to get, because yours blew down the street in a wind storm, only to mysteriously return to your driveway, a week later. Just a garage of garbage. Literal and figurative.

Then, there's the dump. Or, formally known as The Dining Room Table.  This thing is a magnet for miscellaneous junk. It's location, plus it's size, minus its lack of use, equals a perfect place to put things. It's a mailbox. After the mail has been removed from the actual mailbox. It's mail Middle Earth. Letter limbo. You get the point. Keys? Toys? Purse? Sweater you wore? Random items you took out of the car because you were "cleaning up"? Dining. Room. Table. Dump. At least there's no dining going on. That would be crazy.

Outside of the common cluttered places, are the more subtle spots. Ledges. These sneaky bastards are everywhere. Stair ledges, window ledges, bath ledges, wall ledges. Each step upstairs, a ledge of lost good intentions. Each item placed with a whispered, "I will take this up when I go." But once it hits that stair, it disappears out of your vision field. The whispered intention carried away on the wind. We have a half wall at the top of our stairs, that functions the same way, but in reverse.  Covered in the odds and ends of omitted overachievement. Bath ledges lined with books and toys, window ledges decorated with trinkets, oh my! As I mentioned, literal ledges covered in figurative shit.

So goes the task of pulling my mind from the figurative ledge, by attempting to clean up the literal ledge. Ledges. Gutting the garage. Decluttering the dining room table dump. Inevitably, restarting the cycle of the crap collectors. The litter loop. The slovenly stair sequence.  You get the point.

Does Mommy need to lose her shit?

Not this week.