I went on a bit of an attack last week.
January gets me like that. Starts me cleaning and moving and organizing. It’s kind of imperative when you live in a small house. If you don’t clean and move and organize you end up starring as the lady with the liquified cats under her couch/bed/kitchen table on Hoarders.
It started with cleaning out my junk drawer. It ended in death.
The death of a million pairs of p’jamas, stained tee shirts and ugly, ugly footwear.
Those deaths made me feel more alive than I have ever felt. It’s like I gained strength and power from every single piece of flannel I flung into the garbage. Screw eating broccoli. Throw out all of your ugly p’jamas. You’ll live longer.
And you folks did the same. I’m not sure about the ugly p’jamas part … I don’t even know if you wear p’jamas or if you’re one of those sleep in the nude weirdos. But you did throw stuff out.
In fact a ton of you threw stuff out. Oddly, I inspired you SO much to throw stuff out that you didn’t take pictures for me. You were too absorbed with chucking. Which is fine. That was the goal.
And I’m sure you feel better for it. If you *didn’t* throw stuff out you will still feel better, because at this moment you are now going to be able to look at everyone elses’s junk.
I did get a few pictures.
It’s fun to look at everyone else’s junk. Always puts me in a better mood.
Behold … your junk.
I suggest if you recognize any of this junk, you take cover immediately. The owners of it now have the power of a thousand fields of broccoli. And I can’t guarantee they’ll use their powers for good.