Lately, I'm losing it over laundry.  It's like the mail; it never stops.  It just keeps piling up and up and I avoid and avoid until I get down to the bottom of the barrel.  Like underpants with zero elasticity.  Towels that accidentally got bleached.  Sweatshirts...

I still have my father's and mother's ashes in their original delivery boxes stashed in the back of my bedroom closet.  They're really no trouble at all.  Well they could chip in toward the mortgage and cover their fair share but other than that, they ain't bothering...

I recently realized I've been walking around for close to sixty five years with for all intensive purposes tattooed to my flapping lips.  No one has ever corrected me, but then again I do have that whole low talker and mumbler thing going on, so it's highly likely...