my crevice of shame
I have a Crevice of Shame. It’s dark, dirty, and dusty, and has not been properly attended to in months. The dog won’t even go there. I’m talking about the foot-wide space between our bed and the wall. I’ve taken to throwing my clothes in there when getting undressed. For a while I was doing ok with the hook on the back of my closet door. Pants that have been worn and shouldn’t go back on their hangers but are not ready for the hamper yet go there. Everything else should go in the hamper, except hoodie sweatshirts which might also get the hook. But sometimes it seems to be too much for me to handle. I don’t know why. Then everything just goes in The Crevice. Right now it’s so filled with dirty clothes and old magazines that I have to get out of bed on The Little Red Haired Girl’s side. Someone really needs to take care of that shit.
