I open the first door to my house and everything is fine. The second door opens and I meet with the smell of hummus.
Empty tubs crush against the wall being pushed by the door.
All kitchen appliances are on. My toaster has burnt out. The oven door is open child killingly wide.
It is the first level of hell.
Pots and pans with hummus smeared around the sides cover the work surfaces. Outside my three year old is surrounded by perhaps every neighbourhood cat. The child in my arms I open every window and every appliance I turn off. In three rooms there are televisions on. Underfoot on the stairs there is the crushing of olives. My bath is about to overflow.
Half full hummus tubs float on the water. Hummus is smeared on the walls in arches. At least sixty packets are in my house and more olives.
In my bedroom passed out wearing every item of clothing in the house is my babysitter, smeared with hummus.