The World In The House.


Having a sick child has brought my house to life in a way I never thought possible. It’s somewhat frightening, but I’m trying to cope. The fantastical nature of the seemingly mundane objects in my house have me at a loss, and while I look on in endless wonder and mild unease, I find myself amused.

Take, for example, my living room. I’m pretty sure the Shreddie Crumbs are building into a working city under my couch cushions. It’s caused a pilgrimage of every other Crumb, slowly intensifying as you get closer to it. The bigger Crumbs are lagging behind, as they find it more difficult to cross the bridge between linoleum and carpet.

Meanwhile, the Kleenex species have multiplied in the children’s room, and are miraculously disassembling into small pieces. I’m going with replication for the purposes of World Domination. And as such, I will be vacuuming them up into a containment unit known as the Garbage.

I finally beat back the laundry pile, however, as yesterday was laundry day, the battle has begun anew. Subterfuge was key, and I do have the upper hand, as I hung all the socks by appropriate pair. Maybe if I’m quick on the draw, I won’t lose one to the “dryer” nexus. I’m pretty sure that’s code for “I’m free!!!”, and does not have anything to do with the dryer.

My bed hasn’t been properly made, and I’m certain that my comforter is turning into a living, breathing, cloth creation. At least, if the pile it’s turned into is any indication. Whatever process is going on has also engulfed the sheet. The pillows seem safe for now, but the dirty clothes on the floor may not be so lucky if this keeps up.

I’m dealing with a plague of dishes. I’ve done sink after sink after sink, and they just keep piling up. I’m beginning to think pandemic.Thankfully, there seems to be no danger of casualties, as it appears targeted at crippling kitchen function. While debilitating, that is manageable with the right treatment, namely, a regular dose of dishsoap and clean scrubbies. Is there a cure? I doubt it, but researchers are looking for a natural antibody in the seemingly rare individual capable of keeping a kitchen in top shape.

The toys are haunting me, as I’m certain they are infested with children cooties. It’s one of those secret things that no one talks about, like bed bugs and lice. As the frequent infection of our small family pod has occured, I’m going to order a regular immunization in the bathtub full of soap. I think it would be better not to outright disinfect, as I’m hoping I can introduce good cooties to counteract the bad ones.

My judgement appears to have been compromised, as the ear-shattering, mind-numbing overtures of Diego are playing in the background. The cacophony is dreadful, and I find myself wondering how it got on in the first place. If I think through the din, though, I remember that the reason was because my brain threatened to melt if one more episode of Chuck and Friends started playing. There’s only so much a person can handle.

As I sit, I can feel the hum of all the oddities starting to stir. That means, dear readers, that my coffee cup is empty. It appears to have a mild anesthetic effect when full. I must observe.

The Handler.

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