HAND ME THE PITCHFORK

So. I got home mere moments ago, and I found that my bed was an utter disaster. Lordy. And, quite logically, I shall blame my ex-girlfriend. Who five years afterwards is still my apartment mate, and has her own room, and her own bed. Which, I point out, is spotless.
My bed, however .....

The reason for the bed-mess is that she had asked, five hours ago when she went to take a bath, if it was okay to root through my mail for any catalogues to read while she soaked.

I had no problem with that.


For the past many months or more my mailbox has been overflowing with junkmail. Upon emptying it, I pull the bills and statements, and dump the remainder to the right of the fish-obsessed teddy bear on my bed whom I brought home a decade ago. And then I studiously ignore it.

Actually, precisely like the bills and statements.
I stack them separately, unread.
Along with catalogues.
On the bed.

Snail mail is basically a waste of time. I call in to pay all my bills regularly, and I keep track of my expenditures accurately enough that whatever the recorded voice says is not worth questioning. I haven't bothered opening bank or utility statements in several months.
I figure stuff out as it happens.
And pay on time.

She must have found quite a few catalogues. The election flyers and voter-recommendations are a bit scattered in consequence. Presently the spider hand-puppet (Pierpont) is sitting on top of the mail-dune threatening the froad (Tyrone Thibbet). A troll (Totoro) is to the side advising the little black kitty (Gigi). There's a stuffed cow (Louise) there too.
All of them are wide awake.
And far too lively.



The friend who drove me home advised me earlier to sign-up for match dot com, as a means of perhaps solving my lack of romance. I rather doubt that even match dot com would help, because as a first step I would probably have to get rid of all the printed detritus in the entire apartment, much of which I haven't even read yet. What I intend to do before going to sleep tonight is simply re-stack what's on the bed, randomly but neatly.
I don't feel like housecleaning at this present time.
There's nothing that is actually dirty.


Cleanliness is next to godliness.
I am not quite the devil.




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