She notes details for no reason. She knows every crack in the sidewalk
on the way to the mailbox. She agonizes over the crooked towel bar - the
right side three-eighths of an inch higher than the left...levels did
exist when this building was constructed, she emphatically insists to
the perfectionist greasing the gears in her brain. She avoids hanging
pictures because she's afraid her bad aim will hammer the nail into the
way a centimeter away from its intended position - at least on the
carpet, paintings line up with the slanted floor. Her mini-blinds vary
in color from just-whitened-teeth white to light, lacy, cream...she
keeps them open regularly so the variance is easier to ignore. She
fixes the shower curtain during each shower so that the plastic rings
are evenly spaced. She frets over the fact that the hangers in her
closet are mismatched.
Yet her bedroom is a mess. Her refrigerator houses food past its expiration date. The top of her dresser isn't visible. Dust from incense remains on the counter from a week ago. Her bed is unmade. Cat litter is scattered across the bathroom floor. She detests dusting (though she is oddly intrigued with feather dusters themselves). She deems her frizzy hair worth the convenience of leaving the blow dryer stored away.
She sees the details. She manages to overlook imperfection ... because there is so much within herself.
Yet her bedroom is a mess. Her refrigerator houses food past its expiration date. The top of her dresser isn't visible. Dust from incense remains on the counter from a week ago. Her bed is unmade. Cat litter is scattered across the bathroom floor. She detests dusting (though she is oddly intrigued with feather dusters themselves). She deems her frizzy hair worth the convenience of leaving the blow dryer stored away.
She sees the details. She manages to overlook imperfection ... because there is so much within herself.
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