The Pit and the Paranoid -- (This shit would scare Edgar Allan Poe)
Cleaning house has been a recurring topic of conversation lately. J, who sometimes makes me think they do things differently on her planet, advocates completely emptying each room and cleaning it from top to bottom before putting back whatever is going back. I think she's insane, and you can tell her I said so. Of course, the fact that she hasn't been inside my house in about 15 years means she has NO FRACKIN' CLUE what she's talking about. Because where am I supposed to put it all? That might work for someone with a huge house and not much stuff, but I have a modest-sized house and A LOT of stuff.
BigRed, who came by last year, or was it the year before? Fairly recently, anyway. She thinks lots of boxes are the answer. Boxes labeled for various rooms, and donations, and a great many trash bags. I think that many boxes would decimate whole rainforests. I've tried boxes; they pile up, you look for things, can't find them, things get shuffled around---no.
A little help, THAT would help. I'm always astonished when I watch Hoarders and the subjects have a bunch of friends and relatives comes out of the woodwork to help liberate them from their crap. I'm nowhere near that bad, but my friends stay away in droves. I *almost* wish I was bad enough to be on one of those shows. Almost. Because I'd be notorious forever after, and I'd really rather not be. A crew of a half-dozen people and a pro for three days, fine. Camera crew, not so much...I'm paranoid enough to worry about future employers seeing it, or worse yet, that lot next door. They don't need to know the layout of my place, or what I've got in here. And never does anybody else I haven't invited in.
Start small, counsels BigRed. The master bathroom is the smallest room in the house; I've been working in there. It feels frustratingly miniscule and futile. I have so many things I want to do, so many ideas, but there's SO MUCH to do before I can begin to implement any of it. And then what? I'll have a decent place to live, that's something. I just feel like it's all a million miles away.
Don't mind me. I'm just tired and discouraged.
.
BigRed, who came by last year, or was it the year before? Fairly recently, anyway. She thinks lots of boxes are the answer. Boxes labeled for various rooms, and donations, and a great many trash bags. I think that many boxes would decimate whole rainforests. I've tried boxes; they pile up, you look for things, can't find them, things get shuffled around---no.
A little help, THAT would help. I'm always astonished when I watch Hoarders and the subjects have a bunch of friends and relatives comes out of the woodwork to help liberate them from their crap. I'm nowhere near that bad, but my friends stay away in droves. I *almost* wish I was bad enough to be on one of those shows. Almost. Because I'd be notorious forever after, and I'd really rather not be. A crew of a half-dozen people and a pro for three days, fine. Camera crew, not so much...I'm paranoid enough to worry about future employers seeing it, or worse yet, that lot next door. They don't need to know the layout of my place, or what I've got in here. And never does anybody else I haven't invited in.
Start small, counsels BigRed. The master bathroom is the smallest room in the house; I've been working in there. It feels frustratingly miniscule and futile. I have so many things I want to do, so many ideas, but there's SO MUCH to do before I can begin to implement any of it. And then what? I'll have a decent place to live, that's something. I just feel like it's all a million miles away.
Don't mind me. I'm just tired and discouraged.
.