All Things Profane and Sacred

The house is comming down all around me. Faucets leak. Closet doors run off the track. Windows stand open, screenless. Got to maintain order. Rationality. But summer is upon me, stiffling my better impulses, and turning responsibility into one long debauched night, full of the swilling of booze and the smoking of dope.

How long before it all falls apart, I wonder. I could conceivably call the landlord, but the maintenence man fears my hound, and I have no time to housesit while he makes the necessary repairs. Like so many other things, I have learned to live with the increasing entropy that surrounds me.