The days fill themselves with premium chocolate ice cream bars, nuts, and crackers. Bits of food, thanks to Pogo, make walking barefoot an unpleasant adventure. Dust, like a brown shroud, drapes across the furniture. The boys' box does get attention, though the used grocery bags stack up near the box. I am sure the odor permeates the apartment, but I cannot smell much of anything. A benefit, I could say, from the years of smoking.
Television holds no power over me these days. Sitting in my chair and watching the clouds, big and puffy like those I remember from childhood, change patterns as they move across the sky. Occasionally a jet adds an exclamation.
The boys, along with a dozen or so flies, go in and out of the sliding glass door. The flies spreading the word among themselves that this place offers a flies' smorgasbord, the boys to make sure I am still sitting here.
No serious amount of energy expended by me could get home back in shape in one day. Chipping away the chores does not work. The house seems to get dirtier faster than I can clean. Wonder why? If I completed two chores a day, and then did not mess with the recently cleaned object/room/floor, a clean house would appear in a few months. Not the way cleaning works.
Today's forecast calls for overcast skies, rain, and sleep. Oh well, the dirty house does not plan a trip to Cleanville, anytime soon.
IMYD
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