Home geology

I actually had a tumble-down recently. A pile of clothes I have in the bathroom developed a cantilever feature where it was supporting itself beyond the structure of the shelf it was resting on. The pile had developed into an outcropping, an overhang. One day while getting ready for work last week, I wiggled a shirt out from between fossilized clothing layers, and the entire load shifted! I’d type “boom!” but clothes don’t really go boom, not even on a tile floor. I think it went “whoosh,” like an avalanche flying out of control, and I had to jump out of the way or become a pile collapse casualty.

I stood staring at the former shelf-pile as it laid on the floor thinking, “this is not happening.” Just a few days before I had remarked to Matthew that the clothing pile in the bathroom was taking on architectural features that defied gravity. I guess I jinxed myself, like when I say, “Good dog, you haven’t puked in the car once today!” And then “BLECK!” it all comes roaring down in a pile.

The formerly shelf-bound pile gave me a new wardrobe option though. You just have to keep an open mind to pile accidents. My philosophy about piling is that if it’s important enough, it will circulate back to the top of the pile given enough time. Objects in piles have their own currents, like water or hot air, they cycle through varying layers of depth. If a butterfly flaps it’s wings in Mexico, does the t-shirt I’m looking for reappear at the top of the pile? Maybe not when I’m looking for it, but eventually it will.

By the way, I didn’t actually clean the collapsed pile. I just scooped it up and mounded it better to create more architectural stability. The pile’s integrity was significantly disturbed by this recent event, so I eye it suspiciously every time I walk in the bathroom. When the seasons change for the warmer in Chicago, I’ll clean it up; I have to find my summer t-shirts eventually.