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.