* The look of depression

It was a collage, a mess, a pig sty, a horrible clutter, a disaster - a state of emergency!  Yes indeed, it was more a state of emergency ... that was it.  In fact, had her domain been a country, the head of state would no doubt have sent in the troops to help regain order and do clean up before more were killed.

Well - no one had actually died as yet - unless of course you count the fruit flies breeding in the locked down blender. They had, in the most concerted effort not to remove them from the upstairs bathroom to the downstairs dishwasher, been sprayed with raid.  In fact there had been lives lost.  Those who had survived the spraying incident continued to breed and multiply happily, feeding on the now well aged, moldy, stinking, fruit protein smoothie.

It wasn't as though she hadn't had an opportunity to move the atrocity downstairs to the dishwasher.  Since she had stuffed the small holes in the blender top with toilet paper it had become more of a novelity - an experiment really.  She could sit on the loo and watch them - wondering how they could still be alive and well - bringing new life into their micro climate - seemingly enjoying themselves.  Yes, it had become a fascination.  She wondered why they did not want to kill themselves living in that mess. 

Her bedroom had become an obstacle course.  She considered taking extra liability insurance lest she fall and have to sue herself.

Dishes, papers, mail, books, shopping, cloths, bags, notebooks, art materials, frames, CD's, videos, and large sketches had accumulated to dangerous heights and widths.  One morning she suddenly discovered herself stepping sideways through a small path to walk to the other end of the room and make her morning coffee.

Before the morning she had to turn her body sideways to navigate the terrain - she had been oblivious to the growing nature of the problem.  That morning, she acknowledged the state of affairs, made her coffee and immediately went back to her bed,  carrying another spiritual book to enjoy with her morning cup.

Downstairs in the kitchen growth and expansion was also occuring.  The cupboards were completely empty, every dish dirty and scattered over the sink, counters and tables.  The overflow spilled into her bedroom upstairs.

The smell of mold began to permeate the air.  She noticed it becoming stronger every day and upon investigation discovered a bowl in the sink with dregs of spaghetti sauce in it.  An interesting blue powdery film covered the entire bowl.  She bent over it and sniffed closely.  Yes, that was the offending bowl.  She brushed away the smell with her hand, turned on her heel, positioned her head in the air and glided upstairs to her bed and her book.

The bed was pristine.  Spotless, dressed all in white, with stacks of beautiful down pillows, a light, warm luxurious puff and 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.  She climbed in, sank back on her pillow stack, pulled the down over her body and thanked the universe for her abundance of magnificent bedding and the comfort of it all.  She picked up her book and read for another day.

The weeks slipped by.  The longer she lingered in bed the more unable she was to move.  The phone remained unanswered, the door tightly shut and the outside gate locked.  The occasional knock on the front door went unheeded.  She was stuck.