tavie.com

I don't understand why nothing can be thrown out. I don't understand a place where no plastic grocery bag can be thrown away, every packet of ketchup and soy sauce and butter sent from the diner must be kept, where I have to throw out February yogurt in May, where broken chairs sit in heaps in the front room, where clothes are cast off and left, where light bulbs are taken out of cartons and the cartons left where they lie because everything is left where it lies, where hampers are full of dirty clothes and so are floors, beds, chairs and couches. Where couches are ripped to shreds by cats and then covered with a layer of shoes, books and video tapes and dust. Dust on everything. Dust on the people as well as the books and papers and garbage. Where no broken appliance can be discarded. Where nothing can be discarded. I don't understand these things even though I grew up amid them.

And I don't understand a family that doesn't understand why someone would wish to leave such a place as often as possible.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:01 PM | shower me with attention