Future residents, please note…

3 1/2 weeks is an important point in time wherein you can no longer tolerate the layer of grit upon your floors. Tired of having to clean your feet BEFORE you put on your shoes, you will finally relegate yourself to the task of trekking to Giant Tiger (or Dollarama, if you’re wiser with your dollars) to buy a broom. Ah. A broom.

It is also the point at which your bags of laundry are full to bursting and you have been using that last icky bath towel for too darn long. You had forgotten that laundry requires detergent and softener and time. Too many things require the ingredient of “time”, these days.

You may also, at this interval, look into your cupboards with longing, wondering when you’ll remember to purchase a can opener so that you can finally eat those Spaghetti-Os you bought on an ill-conceived whim.

I permit you to also observe the pile of recycling that fills your heart with concern. Will you really have to sort through all that? Will it ever stop growing? Will it grow legs and walk downstairs to the bin itself? (A momentary glimpse of hope?)

While you’re at it, you may as well take a gander over at the sink area. Trust me, you don’t NEED to wash a dish unless fruit flies appear, and even then, you’ve still got a couple of days until it gets really bad. It may be a good idea to stock up on disposable dishware. Just in case.

In conclusion, you may not know why certain items (a bottle cap, three pennies, a lanyard from a convention from five months ago, an 8mm projector) have wound up on your kitchen table, but trust me, they belong there. If you are to organize them or in any way alter their relation to the table itself, the universe would be thrown in flux, and we’d all be subjected to the worst torments of mankind’s collective imagination, and the chaos would only serve to put those items right back in their original places, thus negating any effort you had made at all.

Best leave it for another day.