To sometimes feel like my bedroom is the household catch all. At various times my room times my room has held my uncle’s clean and dirty clothing and numerous repair manuals for electronics that are no longer made. Before my sister left for Atlanta she put so many boxes on the top shelf of my closet that it collapsed under the weight within six months. My sister has been living out of state for two years now I think and the closet is still broken. I’m starting to doubt that it will ever be repaired despite repeated assurance to the contrary. The older I have gotten the more organized I have tried to become, but this hard when the able bodied people I have lived with don’t really seem to listen when I tell them where I want things placed or put their things in hear sometimes without asking for permission at all and if they do they only do so as an afterthought. I feel like I live with a reincarnation of Fibber McGee’s Closet except that I had comparatively little to with its current state.
Writer's Desk 