Consequences

"You already have the information. All the names and dates are inside your head. What you want, what you really need, is a stoy.."
~ V

The Truth:

To my dismay, there are four baskets of clothes in this room. While they are mostly clean clothes, I keep protesting about them; hell, I even try my best to "keep on top" of "doing the laundry." I just can't seem to stop these goddamned things from amassing in here. I suppose that it is somehow the effect of spending too much time in this room, but the more I think about it, the more it pisses me off. I could understand having to snake my way around them all the time if there was a lack of space to put them in, but there isn't. There is more than enough space for both the clothes and the baskets that house them, yet there they are. I suppose that I would even be okay with having them all over the place if even a high percentage of the contents - let's say 30% - were mine. This, however, is not the case. Y'know, to be quite honest, I'm not even sure that I know what all is in them. I'm fairly certain that the smaller white one has had things in it for months now, and I have absolutely no fucking clue as to what those things might be. 

The stretch:

I have no idea why Erica keeps six baskets full of dirty clothes in this room. Even though I "bust my ass" doing the laundry all the time, it seems that there is never enough time in the day. I suppose that if I didn't spend every hour of the day cooped up in this room, that I could possibly do something more about it. It absolutely enrages me that I have to tiptoe around the room, sometimes falling over onto the bed because the piles have become umanagable. It would be one thing if there wasn't enough space for the baskets and the clothes, but we have more than ample enough space for three times the amount of buildup. To top it all off, all of my clothes could probably fit into one of the baskets, yet I have to deal with this shit. It's preposterous. In fact, there is a smaller white container that has been on the floor for about half a year now, and it has become home to things that I can't even remember owning. 

Consequences:

The laundry baskets and piles of clothes keep mounting. I don't even remember the last time I was able to see the floor or the bed, and I'm constantly in fear that there might be something alive in them. Just yesterday, I could swear that I saw one of the piles shift a bit, and I hear strange breathing in the middle of the night. 

Yesterday, Erica told me that one of the cats was missing. I have a sinking fear that it might have wondered into our "room-pile" and met an unfortunate fate. I'm too much of a chickenshit to look. 

It's been three weeks since I started doing laundry. Every day, I do about five loads, but the pile just won't seem to go away. It almost seems that for every load that I put in the washer, two more grow to take it's place. I must be going mad, because we all know that there is no possible way that the laundry is replenishing it's ranks. Right?

As of this writing, I'm thinking of perhaps trying to tackle some of it. As I look around the room, though, I've noticed that the piles seem to have somehow reached the door. Was it like that earlier, or am I just being paranoid? There's no way that the laundry is actively trying to keep me locked up in this room. After all, none of it is even my laundry. Why would it be after me? 

Wait...What was that sound.....