My next door neighbor is packing fastidiously. She is so neat and perfect, and I can't stand to look upon her room because I might start crying. I just wander, feeling somewhat empty and useless. I can't watch her pack. Her room is too clean. She is too precise. I'm leaving too, but my room is filthy - there are piles of dirt and hair and papers. Each of us have piles of dust, but mine just seem to add to the clutter, while hers are all that's left in her room.
I can't handle this.
She said, deadpan, "God is punishing me for my vanity. I have too many things."
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