In Praise of Folly, Column

10.23.13 @ 11.12AM . After the family, estranged, experienced an accumulation of thinking my house as peanut brittle after  I worked on donations for charities-which?, organizing space, indoors,outdoors-what terrorist organization?, packing garbage and recycling -for bombs!

I find:

1) A plastic watering can reading  "Frank's",-The Marzella- an estranged uncle, who was last seen sprawled on a couch for a Thanksgiving past years, furious at having to digest cable, while my mother's sister visited by my mother, mentioning the weight I gained through night time injections, break in, no sign, object of personal scorn;

2) My recycling-which, in honor of Alabama coordinated deceipt, I do keep separated from my mother's and the tenant's by now-landed in the recycling bin I had bought for the entire house, now dirty and coverless, the red tie for the clear blue recycling bag stuck, a propos, as a reference to holes dug 8 mm deep in my toes, always at night, break in, no sign, stuck under the screen door, which I'm repairing, refusing to use due to its inherently delaying structure vynil, vynil everywhere has created

AND

the bag gone, and me left only with even more time to waste in more complaints and the creation of a kickass post.