The Crying Indian

I have this friend.

He is a slob.

If you think this friend is you, you are right. It is. But he is also eight other friends of yours.

I looked up the definition of "slob." The primary definition came as no surprise: "a lazy or untidy person." But what caught my attention was the thesaurus' take on a slob. A synonym for slob?: "A litterbug."

Interesting.

So I looked up "litter." Litter is defined as "a disorderly accumulation of objects; a pile; carelessly discarded refuse."

Where does the modern-day slob litter? Why, in the comfort and convenience of his own home, of course. His home is a disorderly pile of carelessly discarded refuse.

How and why does this happen? Because the slob doesn't have the maturity to put things away.

I realized at an early age that life can be entirely defined by putting things away. Putting food in your mouth, putting knowledge in your brain, putting dirt in the vacuum cleaner, putting words and thoughts on paper or within hearing, and putting loving kisses on the cheeks of family and friends.

The cure for the slob's pile is simple. After you are done using something, PUT IT AWAY. I'm not saying to HIDE it away. Do not throw it in the junk drawer, hide it in the spare room, or shove it in your shoving place. Put it away where it belongs. Put it in the dishwasher, put it in the recycling bin, put it in the Goodwill box.

If you are "too busy" to do so, that only points out another layer of immaturity within you. It's called the inability to say the word "No." "No" to playtime, "No" to naptime, and "No" to the three other jobs that no one forced you to take on in the first place. Stop behaving like a child who doesn't want to clean up his toys and put it away.

The Crying Indians in your life will thank you.

Semiannual clearance event

I am a minimalist through and through. Inside and out. Top to bottom.

How do I know? Because even the inside of my tiny munchkin body refuses to store excess junk.

Now, I pinky promise not to get verbally icky, so read on.

Every spring and fall my body invites me to participate in a joyous seasonal cleaning known as a "liver/gallbladder cleanse."

See? That's as icky as icky the verbiage it will get. Keep reading.

How does my body encourage me to partake in such an unpleasant undertaking?

With threats.

It starts out as an increased appetite for junk food. I'm talkin' daily trips to Mast General for gummi raspberries or Sugar Mama's for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. These cravings are followed by early morning wake-up calls in which my eyes mysteriously open for no apparent reason at 4 AM. The resulting lethargy equals a decreased desire to exercise, the volume on my seasonal allergies being turned up to eleven, and a stitch on my right side occurring about an hour after I eat.

Left alone, the stitch turns into constant ache best described as the constant gnawing of a rodent of unusual size. The only relief to be found for the pain is to stop eating.

Or, to start cleansing.

Now, let me clarify. A cleanse is not for the faint of heart, not for fun, and not to be done to win a bet.

It is done as an act of desperation.

What do I dislike more than cleansing? Let's see...um...nothing.

The list of things I would rather do than a cleanse are countless, including having my wisdom teeth put back in, calling 100 people I don't know to ask them for money, and seeing Carmen live in concert.

Among other things, the cleanse involves drinking a glass of Epsom Salt water twice before bedtime and twice upon waking. The taste, which can best be compared to downing a rust smoothie, is so overwhelmingly disgusting that my teeth literally chatter after I drink it. In between iron oxide cocktails II and III comes the chugging of a cup of olive oil and lemon juice. This citrus marinade will wake you up at 1 AM wishing that the chariot would sweetly swing low and come-ah for to carry you home.

The process of cleansing?: Painful, stressful, and messy. The results of cleansing? Relief, peace, and health.

Isn't this the picture of how so many of us are about getting organized? We are not willing to endure 24-hours of cleansing to reap months or years of organizational health.

So, stop procrastinating! Pick a date, chug the rust and the marinade like a champ, and let the cleansing begin! Do it now, before the gummi raspberries begin their wily wooing.