nadine jensen

Fix me.

It us my closet shouting at me, trying to catch my fleeting attention. I've written that down in my mental list of things to be done. I've been eager to do that, but the tediousness of that work seems to put off my interest. Maybe when there's nothing left for me to do, or maybe when it's the only thing left to do, I'd start to fold those dumped clothes in it and fix it.

My mom starts to blurt non-sensical, blight hurtful words again. This early, 8:46 am, that's the sound you wake up to in this house.

Maybe it's not my closet that needs to be fixed, maybe something else requires immediate diagnosis of behavior. It could be me, it could be my mom, but definitely not my closet.