The top of my stairs is purgatory for fresh washing. It sits there until it has lost its lovely freshly washed smell. Just as it is due for another wash it gets put away. I have learnt to descend the stairs (always harnessed up and with chalk) on the very thinnest outside edge of my foot. My hand grasps the rail like the carriage of a rollercoaster to the rails, brakes/fingers grasping and releasing grasping and releasing to maintain a consistent speed. That banister now has the most beautifully ‘hand’ waxed sheen to it. The washing slowly begins to pile up. First one wash load is dolloped there when I can’t be bothered to put it in my room. Because once it gets to my room I have to find a reason why I don’t have time to put it all away in the correct drawers. This I would happily do if those drawers were ready and waiting to be loaded, lavender scented Laura Ashley drawer liners beckoning my clothes. But every single drawer in my bedroom hangs on by a wood shaving on its dovetail corners from it’s housing, creaking under the weight of cashmere. I don't think I have ever seen them closed. Each time a new load is deposited I must crush the mountain back against the wall as far as I can like a dustcart with the rubbish. I push with all my might, turn tail and gallop down the stairs expecting to be hit in the back by a hundred weight of pants. That is if I haven’t already come a cropper on the piled pairs of shoes staggered equidistantly like traffic in a Hollywood car chase. On the Norfolk coast they suffer from coastline erosion. On my top step the landscape suffers knickerline proliferation. One clumsy drunken toilet stop too many could inadvertently lead to an avalanche of pyjamas sweeping away a panda eyed woman with a full bladder and a nightie up around her ears.

This is what I slept on last night. I'm the longest person within fifty feet, yet I always get the four foot couch, my legs completely hang over. Haha pretty much only my torso fit comfortably. Woke up this morning, Felicia's car was stolen right from her apartment parking lot. Man. Short class tonight and working on too many papers due by today. Tomorow, Disney (Paramore, All Time Gaaaaay, Keri Hilson). Saturday, Alice in Chains. Sunday, Jimmy Needham? Maybe. My mom just walked in apologizing/smiling. She's been yelling at me for MONTHS to find my extra keys, calling me irresponsible and what not. Woman just walked in with the keys, they were in her pajama drawer? What?Hahahhaha. She's claiming she must have memory loss issues. Also, just over came awkwardness and called "Mom" from some phone I found in my driveway, from my phone. Some kid lost it at the bus stop at six something this morning. Glad I found it, they seem cool. Oh and I am not five years old. Remember that.