This post may end rather abruptly. You have been warned. It is about a basement. Namely, mine. Actually it's not even technically a basement, because it's structure is above ground. Though it's located underneath my house (which is built on stilts on one side and into the hillside on the other) it is actually built at ground level. I call it a basement because A. I have to go outside to gain entry like at Grandma's old house, and B. it is dark and danky. And sometimes spooky. It would be an easy place to forget about. I have a few things on shelves down there, but they were put there with the understanding that I wouldn't need them anytime soon... And it wouldn't matter too much if theses things became mice nests during the winter months and spider havens in the summer. The stuff I have in storage down there is mostly that of forgotten memories... Old cd's and stuff of that ilk, and not stuff that I would need in an apocalyptical revolution, if that occasion were ever to suddenly arise itself. Unfortunately my basement isn't a place that can be forgotten and left to rodentia. It is the location of my laundry facilities. I am big fan of clean underwear (mine and hers) and I brave the elements at least two or three times a week to make sure that I have a pair or two handy. Believe me, on those nights that I work late and have to go down after dark, the journey serves it's share of goosebumps. Even though a clear path is worn to it's entrance, I still have to venture through trees that surround my house and also the spiderwebs that connect those trees to my house. Generally these are not the spiderwebs of the tiny jumping spider or the harmless grand-daddy-long leg, but the extravagant ones that are big, circular and complex.. Designed by dime-sized ginourmous eight-legged architechual geniuses. So, the venture usually puts me on the defensive before I even get to the prize. The prize in this case is the washer and dryer of course, and the only reason for such a trek through the web infested darkness. A man must have clean clothes... At least this man. As uncomfortable as the journey is, it serves it's purpose. Standing in the danky concrete room to switch out clothes or to retrieve an armful to bring back to the house can be a spooky situation to the untrained mind, but something that I have gotten used to. The room is warm and damp, but not well lit. Long strange shadows encompass it's corners and the area behind the washer and dryer, and also the shelves which contain the boxes of forgotten memories that I mentioned earlier. Spiderwebs are prevalent, but mostly reside up high in the wooden rafters. With no reason to linger, time spent in this room is usually brief. It only takes a second or two to switch out the clothes from the washer to the dryer. If there happen to be clothes that are already dry, it doesn't take much longer to shove them into a basket to make for efficient carrying back to the house. A basket of clothes allows for a friendly buffer on the expedition back to the house, and because of the original trek down the path, most of the spiderwebs have been cleared. But it is still dark, and it is still "the woods" where nocturnal creatures are being well... Nocturnal, and you aren't always able to see what may be lurking right in front of you. (To date I have yet to encounter any of these nocturnal creatures, but doesn't that just increase the odds of it happening soon? I hope not... So much for clean underwear.) With that, I am going to call this a stopping point.