I have avoided the task of unpacking for months, and haven't written in nearly as long. Sometimes life throws things our way that put us in stall mode.
Before mom passed away she said "You'll have to get rid of your crap if you want my crap!" Well, I haven't disposed of anything and now have piles of mom's treasures added to mine. I have nowhere to put the stuff. Now I have my stuff, Mom's stuff, and Mom's poodle's stuff, and that's a LOT of stuff.
I stepped out of the shower the other morning to find the dog having fits and someone banging on my front door. Nobody comes to my front door, and whoever it was had to trudge uphill through two feet of snow. After peeking through the blinds to find two police officers, I briefly wondered if it is illegal to live somewhere for months without unpacking. Who could have turned me in when I'm too embarrassed to let anyone visit? A peeping tom? Did a burglar come in and become so overwhelmed with choices that he left and called the cops?
I had to step to the porch rather than let them in and get ticketed for over the legal limit of crap. "Ma'am, we're here because you have a Christmas tree up on January 16th, and your wrapping paper is still in view. There are 3 dog beds and as many blankets in your living room floor - how many pets do you have inside city limits? (One. She likes options.) Afraid we're going to have to take a look inside those boxes too."
So wet-headed, yappy poodle in arm, sock monkey slippers and all I stepped outside to see how I could assist the officers. You know how it seems every time there's a big crime story on television and the murderer's neighbor is being interviewed they look like the homeliest creature that ever walked the earth? I felt like the interviewee. The homely interviewee whose door swung open behind her, to reveal a home as homely as she.
The officers were looking for a previous resident. I considered it a warning and started cleaning.