Rollin', Rollin', Rollin, Keep them Tee Shirts Rollin'

Like a stick-thin aspiring actress poised above a SkyBar toilet bowl on a Saturday night, the Treehouse is purging. Ridding itself of the clothes, papers, bills, shoes, and pointless knick-knacks that have fattened it up beyond the limits of superstardom. Now it sits, thinner and content, confident and ready to go on that next audition. What were we talking about again?

I woke up Wednesday and realized that my work was being affected by the bad feng-shui of things. The closets, filled to the brim with credit card applications and wedding announcements and endless jumbles of plastic hangers from the 99-cent store were beginning to take on a life of their own. I could swear that as I sat at my little table, clicking away on my laptop, I could hear my own shoes talking shit about me, while my photographs in boxes made fun of my fear of the dark. The things that my poorly-hung skirts said I can't even write in a public forum. It was getting bad.

So, I stuck my finger down the throat of the Treehouse and hit the gag reflex hard. Everything was in the center of the room, begging for my attention. I must tell you that it almost did me in. I jogged down Memory Lane, through grassy fields of what used to be, while occasionally stumbling into the briar patch of my own past. It wasn't always pretty.

But I made it. Now my drawers have organizers in them, and everything from undies to socks to jammies are rolled facing upward. That way, I don't have to sort through everything to get to what I want, disturbing it in the process. I can see everything I own now, and it is either rolled or hung.

And now, here I sit, in the middle of a sparkling clean apartment. I know that when I open the closet doors I will be met with neatly lined up drawers and filed papers, and that they will be polite and let me finish my work. No more interruptions to declare that I am unfit to exist on the planet next to people like Martha Stewart and Christopher Lowell. Only good things will come from this, and it was worth the blood that trickled out of my left ear at that one point (when I discovered that the closets were full but I hadn't done my laundry yet).

I encourage all of you to vomit out what is dragging you down. Get rid of those bank statements from '00, or the socks you've had since you were 13. Just do it. Because just like that starlet over on Sunset, it will rejuvenate you and allow you to sit with that guy who says he is a "producer" on the next Orlando Bloom flick and not hate the fact that his cock will be in your mouth at the end of the night.

What were we talking about again? g