'it's the end of time, and garbage is all that has survived.'

I've decided I'm giving up on trying to keep my house clean.  The place constantly looks like a war zone, and I feel like I'm some little war-wizened widow trying to dust my bomb-desolated, craterized hovel with a single goose feather.  At a certain point, the smartest thing to do is to just sit down, relax, and let the swirling dust slowly suffocate me to death while I watch Netflix.

Let me itemize all the current detritus staring me in the face as I type this:

1.  Aldi bags that I need to take back out to the van.  I have a love/hate relationship with the fact that I have to keep track of those things.  Sure, I don't have a million bajillion disposable plastic grocery sacks popcorning out of my pantry every time I open the door, and yeah, okay, so I'm not filling up the landfills and blahblahblah.  But my Aldi bags make me feel like I'm having to add another kid to the constant headcount.  "Oh, now, where did Aldibags run off to?  Is he in the van?  Is he in the kitchen?  Is he wandering the parking lot?"  Too much responsibility for me, thanks.

2.  A Razor scooter.  Finneas got it for his birthday, and I have full intentions of letting him ride it in the driveway tomorrow, which means I didn't let it disappear into the basement or the garage, and which also means it's sitting in my leather armchair and developing a sense of entitlement, like a dog that should sleep outside but you just can't seem to get off of your very own pillow.

3.  35 total pounds of sugar and flour, and three bags of barbecue potato chips, to take to an Amish friend.   Because the living room has seemed like the most logical place to store it for the past week.

4.  The kids' notebooks, colored pencils, military encyclopedias, play calendars, school books, etc. etc. etc. strewn all over the floor.

5.  A wagon.  I'm not even kidding you.  I have an actual two-seater wagon in my living room.

6.  Diapers, more sizes of diapers, packs of wipes, boxes of wipes, plastic sacks the diapers came in.  More diapers.  There's a wrapped up, used diaper sitting on my dining room table.  (Maybe I should wash the table before breakfast tomorrow...)  Also, more diapers.

7.  A plant that has been dead for at least the full eight months of Callista's life, and which I haven't yet thrown away because I kind of feel like looking at a dead plant is better than looking at no plant.  But I could be wrong on that.

8.  My own 'home office' and all its necessaries:  Bible. Pens and highlighters.  Planner.  Bullet journal.  Swimming lessons brochure.  Light reading.  Heavy reading.  On-deck reading.  Refer-back-to reading.  Kindle.  Phone.  Other phone.  Pink apron.  Nail clippers.  Dog tags.  A lapel pin shaped like a can of La Croix.

9.  An empty suitcase.  Also an empty backpack.

I think you can see that things are beyond hope here.  Once I claw my way to the top of this rubble pile, I'm going to skitter out and abandon it, and instead find some other burrow to huddle into and fill with my crap.

Problem solved.