Between loads I ran to the mall for.. well just to get out of the house. I'm assuming not many people are allergic to the house they grew up in, but I am. Could it be the visible layer of cat shed on every conceivable surface? Could it be the mold on the basement-flooding-soaked boxes she "doesn't want to bother" looking through and/or discarding? Perhaps things like the cat vommit which I noticed on the couch one day, then again untouched when I returned later that week? One never knows. I returned with shoes. Shoes upon shoes. Between laundry sacks the size of bodies and bags of boxes the size of platforms, the flowers remained in the trunk after coming home. I've been wondering how long until they will wither, they were quite lively this morning. Slightly droopy. Not long now! It's a selfish sort of joy.
While I'm paparazziing my mom's house, viola.