Simply stated: It’s a freaking disaster.  There is stuff hiding under the couch, in the drawers, under tables, sticking out of closets.  Boxes line our entry way.  OK.  There are only three.  But it’s a small entry.  Clothes and towels litter the stair case railing – you know, the one that’s in the living room.  Shoes are scattered across the floor.

The laundry hasn’t been put away in two weeks – and now needs to be done again but there are no available laundry baskets.  The bed is so unmade that I don’t even know where to start to get it actually made.  The dresser drawers, usually each delegated to some category of item, have a jumble of summer and winter clothes, pants and shirts and dresses stuffed in willy nilly.  There may or may not be three towels thrown across the back of the chair in our bedroom.  And the flowers on Justin’s dresser are most definitely dead.

The cabinets?  Well, they aren’t that bad.  I mean, not as bad as they usually are.  Nothing’s falling out on top of me, but I have been graciously allowing Justin the privilege of unloading the dishwasher.  Amazingly, after living in this house for almost five years, he still has no idea where anything goes.  Actually, in general, the kitchen isn’t too bad.  Except for the dishes in the sink and the fruit flies swarming the place.  Don’t worry – I have bowls of apple cider vinegar set to trap them and, hopefully, reclaim my kitchen.

Half-deflated balloons haunt the corners of my living room and bathroom.  Junk mail is scattered on any flat surface, desperate to be shredded.  Hair brushes can be found in nearly ever room, as Robbie is constantly concerned about his hair.  And, yes.  That’s a hair dryer poking out from under my couch.  And beach toys?  At the top of the stairs, just outside of the living room.

OK.  Maybe it’s not as terrible as it could be.  After all, I’ve seen Hoarders.  We’re not there.  Yet.  And I know I should clean up.  Organize.  Not throw everything into a closet or, better yet, the basement.  Mostly because I think my neighbors are ready to murder me over the state of our basement.  Not that you’d ever be able to find me down there with all the stuff…

But I’m not going to.  Not tonight anyway.  Tonight I am going to eat coffee ice cream and watch a movie.  I may stalk people on Facebook.  I may do a little needlepoint.  I may ready a trashy book.  After all, someone is going to trash my house again tomorrow…