Editor’s note: I actually wrote this up last night, but the stupid thing wouldn’t let me post and I was too tired to hit it with the sledgehammer.
Backstory: When I left the house 1 1/2 months ago, I left it in something of a mess. I had to ransack my laundry piles to pack enough clothes for the kids for more than a week. When I spoke with my Mom before I left Granny’s house, she reminded me that I need to straighten up the mess I left. OK, no problem. I’m thinking *maybe* it’ll take an hour to get it all picked up.
I turned down a week at the beach with a friend because I felt the responsible thing to do was go to the folks house first and clean up my mess. (begins kicking herself viciously)
I walk in the door
and felt a very horrible sinking in my stomach.
I went into the office 
and saw part 2. I opened the closet door 
Now thoroughly disgusted with myself for not taking the vacation first, I think “Well, I’ll just go lay down on my bed and sob quietly for a few minutes.” Alas, it was not to be
I’m not quite sure why, but they emptied my closet onto my bed. Which means I now have to refold and iron that pile. Screw it. I AIN’T ironing it.
And that concludes the rant o the day.