Writer's Block from Hades

Sometimes I think I really should do something to jazz up the appearance of this blog. I've been meandering through the blogosphere and have happened upon some very spiffy layouts and graphics. When I encounter such pages I feel somehow inferior because all I put out there into cyberspace are printed words. Dear reader, I hope you can be satisfied with just these black squiggles and sticks and loop-de-loops scattered across a field of plainer-than-plain white. I'd like to think that I don't need all the fancy graphics to keep your attention. I need to believe that my words are what compel you to read and, perhaps, to return to this blog.
I agonize over what I should write every time I want to create a new post. It is so difficult to write for an audience I do not know. The truth is that I love to write and it's always been an effortless activity for me. That's why I am so confounded now. I have the will and the ability to write and yet I sit and stare at this expansive white screen not knowing how the space should be filled. My thoughts are jumbled up like a log jam in my brain.

Just Another Manic Monday

Whenever the sun fails to perform its prescribed duty of shining my psychological balance is tipped towards the gloomy. As the sun is hiding today, shirking its responsibility, I am fighting a feeling of what can only be described as "blah". I find myself contemplating ways to improve my mood. Writing always makes me feel better, therefore I am blogging.
I am at work right now. You might wonder how I have time to pen this while at my job. Well, the truth is, I am a clerk at a retail store that gets virtually no business. In my five-hour shift, I am lucky if I have a total of ten customers. It gets mighty boring. I'm not complaining. I know that there are plenty of people out there who would give anything to have a job to go to, boring or not. I usually bring my knitting or crocheting with me, but, today I couldn't place my hands upon it without having to search and I didn't want the frustration of trying to locate it in this black hole of a house I live in.
Things disappear in my house. Not just socks in the washing machine either. Big things. Clothes drying racks. Laundry hampers. Crock pots. Artificial Christmas trees. I have no explanation for these lost objects. I must be too good at finding novel storage spaces for them (a useless skill, by the way, if one can't remember where one has placed the items.)
I'm making progress on cleaning my house. I've decided that the first step HAS to be emptying it. With our roomy van jam-packed with donations gleaned from my home-sweet-mess, we made four trips to the local thrift store. I'm not sure how many bags and boxes of "STUFF" that we removed from the house, but it was a lot. I started with a new roll of garbage bags and now that same roll is feeling pathetically thin.
Well, it's time to wait on a customer. More later.....

The Search Continues.......

Something in my life is missing. Some quality or element-- I'm not sure what it is. That's to say, I don't know if it's something I once had, but lost, let's say optimism, or if it's something I have never known or experienced, i.e., cheerfulness. And it's really hard to look for something when you don't even know what it is you're looking for. I don't even have a general sense of what it is or could be. But something is definitely missing. I think it might be associated to matters of the heart.
Yes, I know. This is a lot of blather. Unabashed rot, to be brutally honest. And why would you even care that my soul has atrophied and continues to shrivel daily as its cravings go unfulfilled? My stories of personal angst mean but little to you and I am sure they convey at least a slight twinge of whining. So, I apologize for my sniveling neurotic musings as I question what it is I am trying to locate and secure.
Maybe you're perfectly content with your life. I hope that you are. I mean that with all sincerity. It's awful to spend every day searching for an undefined something that you think will make you feel more significant than the grayest of all gray clouds.

What I Need is A 12-Step Program for Hoarders

This is a continuation of my last post, the topic of which was my apparent lack of housekeeping skills. I know I am not alone in having a disordered home environment. My mom's house and my sisters' houses confirm this. I could probably make a case that I am genetically predisposed to having every surface covered with random papers, need-to-be-read magazines and mail, half-finished projects and such, but if my motivation and need was great enough, I would clean my house. Right?
Well, it isn't quite that simple. Take today. I cleaned my house. Or, I should say, I worked at cleaning my house. It's not a job that can be finished in one day. I managed to clean one of the three bathrooms. Yes. It is a big house. And big houses, unfortunately, have space for lots of things. What's more, I seem to have an obsession with "things".
I love acquiring the cast-offs of society, and have been known to dumpster dive should the treasure at the bottom be especially enticing. Auctions are my weakness and I drag home all sorts of stuff that is currently useless to me, but who knows, maybe someday I, or someone else, will need it. And things seem to find a way to my doorstep. No kidding. Some morning I will wake up and find a big box of goodies someone has charitably given to me.
Why am I telling you this. Well, I'm about to make a sort of admission that I think I need to make. I am a hoarding slob. Don't get me wrong. I am a really nice person. I am just impaired by this awful need to save, rescue and stockpile things. It's reached the point that the amount of stuff has exceeded my ability to manage it.
I am going to get this under control and I will keep you posted on my progress. I welcome any hints in slaying the monster that is responsible for my messy house.