Everybody's Got Something To Hide, Except Especially Me (& My Monkey)

We collect things.  There are stacks throughout the house.  Most of the stuff is grouped accordingly.  There are towers of paperwork, books, computer crap, dirty clothes, clean clothes, more books, toys and of course more toys in pretty much every room of the house.  Plus, the kitchen has the bonus category of dishes. I suppose this order of disorder is an attempt to hide the fact that our house has imploded.  I don't think it is working.

The annoying thing about the messy collection is that we are primarily neat people (especially my dear wife, she is a NEAT FREAK & of course this mess is mainly my fault). I suppose that is why it is all swept into various batches and not scattered in random chaos throughout the house. Still, it's a jungle in here.

Why have we let it become what it has?  We're fucking tired.  My wife and I work schedules in a constant state of flux.  We work early and more so we work late.  Often one of us won't get home from work until well past two in the morning.  That's a stupid time to be coming home (from work that is).

Our kids don't seem to harbor any sort of compassion for us on this account.  They wake early and use the time constructively to practice their Tarzan impressions, drum solos and bird calls. 

They are living up to the proverbial hype once provided by their grandparents.  That, of course, being the classic, "just wait until you have kids" or the slightly more bitter, "I hope you have kids just like you."  These are the curses that my witch-doctor parents laid across me, and they have come to fruition. 

The children make a better argument for our attention than the stoic tidings of the untidiness.

Hence the clusters that adorn our home.  They are slowly becoming a part of us.  Their presence is constant and, unfortunately, fairly accepted.  I have my beer sitting on one such stack at this very moment.  The dog is sleeping on another one.  They are the shadows of our day and they sit in mocking silence. They are our life piles, and every day we rake in more.