You talk to yourself when you're awake. (I don't know if you talk to yourself when you're asleep because I sleep so soundly.) I hear you in the morning between the walls as you begin your day. "Let's get a move on," you say. "What a mess!"

You draw the curtains back every morning, which allows me to see through your patio window. I imagine you're looking at the clothes on your bed. It's at this time I hear you grunt, I hear you moving through the room. Ten minutes run away before I hear you slam the front door.

I don't believe you've done a thing about the "mess" you addressed yourself to earlier, but you've noticed it. Which is a beginning. Everything beginning gets a move on.