My friend Hazel offered to help me with my hoarding problem.
To give you an idea of my room, I should let you know that I can't step onto my floor without stepping on something. Visitors to my room are asked to jump directly from the threshold to the mattress, the only clean area of my room, because visitors wouldn't know where they can step without crushing something. Vaguely, I know that the area near the bookshelf is full of hangers just chillin' on the ground in a pile of laundry. Somewhere near my dresser, I have extra VHS' that I got from work. I actually did step on one of my old Barbie's heads near my door, so I know that toys are around there somewhere.
So what's the problem?
Well, other than the fact that my friend Hazel, who was nice and naive enough to help me fold, stack, throw-away, and organize my room, got to see how bad I treat my room, she got sick.
Apparently that night, she met up with Judy, who told me the next day how ill Hazel looked. She was running a fever and couldn't eat while they were having dinner. I felt so guilty killing my friend. I felt angry that my room betrayed me.
But I could walk on my floor now without the fear of crushing my Angels in the Outfield VHS. And all my room needed was a human sacrifice to make living cleanly a reality.
