Buried

Papers.

They're everywhere.

Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, shoved in every nook and cranny, there they are:

Papers.

School papers, work papers, news papers, magazines, catalogs, old bills, new bills, junk mail, papers to be signed, papers to be filed, papers to be un-filed, papers to be tossed, er, recycled, papers to be shredded, papers in the "to be dealt with later" pile (compounding my problems)...

Papers.

I thought I could handle 'em. Get 'em under control. Streamline the process. Thin out the file cabinets, the junk drawers. GIVE US MORE SPACE! But they're like frickin' rabbits, multiplying by the hundreds, the thousands. I shred one (paper, not rabbit), but ten more appear. I roll a heaping recycling container out to the curb, with piles and piles and piles of PAPERS still waiting for their turn in the wings, mocking me! Their numbers stretch to the sky, waving precariously in the wind! THEY'RE FALLING! I have nowhere to run and am consumed by the downward rush of PAPERS! Is there no one who can help me? IS THERE NO ONE TO HEAR MY AGONIZING PLEAS FOR MERCY? OH, FOR THE LOVE OF...

Honey? HONEY!

Hmm? Huh? What the...

Wake up...you were having a nightmare.

I was?

You kept mumbling "papers" and kicking me in the shins. I'm going to have bruises!

Oh. Sorry Hon.

Maybe you oughtta take a break from your reorganization project. You know, fall back and regroup?

But I've got 'em right where I want 'em!

Yeah, right. Go back to sleep. And if you kick me again, you'll be riding the couch! Stupid papers.