So's I spent a lifetime of emotional preparation for the purge that took place Thursday and Friday. My room is clean.* Completely finished. Empty. Calm. Conducive. Boring. Perfect.
And lookit what I found 'neath the stuff 'neath my bedruff: the Eveready Ready-to-Go Readymade Stainless Steel Emergency Fire Blaze Anti-Nazi Window-Bashin' Escapist Wit Chain Ladder trapped in a dusty display box circa 1980 or whenever I was born. Smacks of Thrift Store tack, couldn't hardly handle a child's weight, let alone the generous claimed carrying capacity of 'two [thoroughly average and rotund] countrymen,' so I thought, so I've always thought on those five occasions when I ventured a tentative glance under my mattresses.
But it held up. I finally gave it a test clamber (thereby damaging the door a bit farther)and it holds my admittedly non-hefty baggage. Impressive.
Makes me all excited for the fierce, flaming tongue of destiny.
*Well, it's pretty clean. There's still too many dead bodies stocked behind the library books in the closet (Cask of Amontillado style, no less), an excess of dried ferret dung crusted between the floor boards, and a wealth of unabashed sentiment staining the walls. So sue me. Baby steps. One twenty-odd year period at a time.
