Cleanser is sprinkled in my bathroom sink, toilet, and bathtub, waiting for me to scrub things clean. Boxes are filled with Christmas decorations, stacked neatly by the attic door, expecting to be put away. My bedroom, which looks like gorillas have been living in it, wails every time I walk through. So what am I doing? Writing about ham. And yes, you read that title correctly, it’s hamicide.…
