Six years ago I moved into my junior one-bedroom home. I was thrilled to finally be living alone. No more roommates. No more compromise. If I wanted to sit on the couch and eat Häagen Das in my underwear, I could.

At the time, the apartment fit me like a glove. It was the perfect size with room for growth. I moved in with:

• my queen-sized canopy bed
• a small end table
• an IKEA entertainment center
• a glass covered coffee table
• a beat-up old couch
• a small dinette set
• 2 bookcases crammed with books
• a vanity with chair
• a microwave oven
• an eclectic CD collection
• about a dozen VHS tapes and
• one flat screen 27″ television

Today my dinette table is hidden beneath seven towering stacks of books. Six 5-shelf bookcases line the walls of the living “area.” Matted black and white photos hang on every available square inch of wall space. Files are piled on my hard wood floor beside the vanity that now doubles as my “office.”

Not to mention the two suitcases I carried home from Christmas are still unpacked and standing in the small entryway. The DVDs are overflowing out of the entertainment center. And I’ve still got a small area devoted to wrapping paper and ribbon and scotch tape and scissors.

How did I let this happen? My bachelorette pad is a complete mess.

This morning, the agent who manages my apartment phoned to say she’d like to drop by sometime next week to inspect the apartment on behalf of my landlord. It’s been a few years since she popped in, and she just wants to make sure nothing needs fixing or an upgrade.

How thoughtful.

So now I have no choice but to organize the pigsty I call home. In six days. S-I-X! And I don’t know where to start. It’s that bad.

How did I accumulate so much STUFF?

My wardrobe is comprised of one basic color – Black.

Enter my closet and you’ll find black suits with pin stripes, black suits with tiny cream dots, black matte suits, sheer black skirts and wide leg pants, black jeans, black slacks, black v-neck sweaters, black button-downs, and an entire section devoted to black velvet.

You can never go wrong with black… it’s so sleek and appropriate for every occasion.

I usually temper my black-claddedness with a light blue shirt or a lime green top (this summer’s cour de jour) or strappy crimson sandals.

Now that the temperature has finally cooled down, I moved some of my “autumn/winter” clothes from the storage closet to my bedroom closet.

This morning I strolled into a meeting and became anxious as the room grew eerily silent. Was I late? Did I have something on my face? Did I forget something?

“That color looks great on you.”

“Why don’t you wear earth tones more often?”

“I love that jacket.”

I was dressed in brown slacks, a peachy-colored v-neck sweater and a chocolate suede jacket. Maybe I’ve taken this “black is my color” thing too far. I don’t think I’ve received so many compliments since….well… let’s just say in a long time.

I’ll be doing some shopping this weekend.

What’s your color?

Each morning I step into the kitchen and check a daily Bushism calendar that sits on top of the microwave oven. Here’s today’s entry –

“Home is important. It’s important to have a home.”—Crawford, Texas, Feb. 18, 2001

Hurricane Katrina has left thousands of area residents homeless. If you live within 300 miles of the devastated area and are able to provide a warm bed or shelter, please log on to hurricanehousing.org  to offer free housing.

Due to our president’s single-mindedness in the war against terror and his optimism that hurricane season would be a walk in the park, millions of dollars in budget cuts to disaster relief have been diverted to Homeland Security.

Meanwhile, thousands of people are stranded without food and water and basic sanitation as looters continue to ransack the city, afforded free reign.

Excerpts from a story written by Seth Borenstein for Knight Ridder Newspapers –

“We’re not getting any help yet,” said Biloxi Fire Department Battalion Chief Joe Boney. “We need water. We need ice. I’ve been told it’s coming, but we’ve got people in shelters who haven’t had a drink since the storm.”

The slow response to Katrina and poor federal leadership is a replay of 1992’s mishandling of Hurricane Andrew, said former FEMA chief of staff Jane Bullock, a 22-year veteran of the agency.

The slowness is all too familiar to Kate Hale. As Miami’s disaster chief during Hurricane Andrew, Hale asked: “Where the hell’s the cavalry?”

May help soon arrive to the survivors in Katrina’s wake. And here’s to hope that our leaders are capable of learning from their mistakes.