Crazy McPsycho

This weekend, I cleaned out my closet, which is why AT THIS VERY MOMENT there is a huge pile of clothes on my bedroom floor. Like I do with most household projects, I got bored about halfway through and could barely finish putting everything back on hangers and hanging it all back in my closet in the correct order. Pants are separated by color and type. Khakis, black pants, jeans, capris. Sweaters are neatly folded and placed on the closet shelf. Tops are separated by sleeve length. And occasion. You can't have short-sleeve t-shirts hanging next to long-sleeved, button-down silky shirts. I know most people don't have t-shirts hanging in their closet, but I have not progressed to cleaning out my dresser and there is really no more room in those drawers to be shoving anything. And hanging t-shirts in my closet is a step up from my usual brand of storing recently-washed clothing, which is keeping it in the laundry basket (sometimes even folded!) until I wear it again.

Back to the huge pile of clothes. By the time I got everything arranged in my closet, something that took much longer than I thought it would, I didn't have the energy to sit on the floor and neatly fold the clothing I had decided to get rid of. So it's still sitting there. Yesterday Phoebe tried to use it for a bed, but as she was kneading a pair of jeans the pile kind of toppled over and she was forced to run away and hide under the bed. What a pussy.

This is one of those entries that I have just completely lost interest in so it would probably be smart to just delete it, because if I don't want to write it, who will want to read it? No one. Except maybe someone suffering from insomnia.

Oh wait. So, one of my new year's resolutions was to submit at least three things for publication. If I don't procrastinate (ha!), I may fulfill one third of this resolution. The Dayton Daily News is having a short story and poetry contest and entries are due by March 1st. That gives me over a month to write at least one short story (you're allowed to submit two). I don't think I'll even attempt poetry because I have always been poetry's bitch and I don't feel like getting spanked. I told my parents I might submit this story I wrote in college, about this guy who shows up on his brother's doorstep late one night, borrows a shovel, asks the brother to go on an errand with him, drives out to a secluded area in the woods, makes his brother dig a hole and then shoots and buries him. Sorry to ruin the ending. I changed my mind based on the weird looks I got from my parents. I don't think Dayton is ready for my warped mind.