Run, Lucy, Run

Secret Shame

November 7th, 2007

I have secret shame.

Actually I guess it’s not so secret-if you ventured upstairs in my house you would discover it immediately. My deep, dark secret. Here it is-are you ready?

Dear God, the horror!

This is our upstairs hallway. Those boxes, the majority of them at least, have been sitting there since we moved in to this house. In May. In fact, not only have they been sitting there for months, but they have multiplied, like some parasitic virus. There’s all kinds of boxes in there, one for the portable air conditioner, one for the ceiling fan we put in, a shoebox, a box for a new duffel bag AND (bonus!) the old, broken-down duffel bag it is replacing! It’s like a little tapestry of our life. Someone keeps promising that the boxes will go away, be sent to the big recycling center in the sky, and yet somehow they are still there. Mocking me.

Of course, I guess I could actually deal with the boxes myself. But what would be the point of that? It’s so much easier to just torture myself and feel shameful every time I walk past them in the morning, or the evening. Oh! There they are again. At this rate, Ashok will probably start naming them soon and getting attached, dressing them up and having tea parties. Then they’ll have to stay forever.

I have been promised by another member of my household (the one who speaks in complete sentences) that the source of my secret shame will be dealt with this weekend, hopefully before my mother gets to town. I hope those boxes haven’t actually rooted themselves into the carpet.

Great. Now the dog’s mocking me too.

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