Monday, August 30, 2010

I Hoard, Therefore I Am Scared

This has been the summer of almost no TV. I was a little obsessed last winter, what with Lost and 24 and American Idol and whatever else I'm forgetting to admit. I declared this summer a TV free summer, and aside from plenty of Curious George (and other PBS Kids) and some very occasional Food Network, it has been just that. I'll watch a movie occasionally or flip through looking for something to watch about once a week, but I'm really quite proud of myself for not getting hooked on any new summer shows.

This past week, when I was flipping through the channels, I landed on Hoarders.

Oh. My. Word.

Now. I am a self-proclaimed clutter bug and I have almost no shame in that. I save too much stuff, but my house is clean (ish - most of the time). Every closet and drawer I have is currently in 911 need of re-org, but we have been having entirely too much fun this summer to sort socks and alphabetize spices, yo.

Then I watch this Hoarder show. As I'm sitting there listening to these people explain why they do what the do, and the therapist (THERAPIST!) try to help them work through it, I am appalled that I think (all.the.time.) what they are saying out loud.

Well, I might use that someday.

It was a great deal.

But it was my grandma's.

It was a gift.

I almost broke out in a sweat.

Two summers in a row I have gone through all of my stuff in hopes of selling unused items in a garage sale. Here are a few things I have kept, and my reasoning behind keeping them:

A sweater. That I will never wear again, for various reasons. Why keep it? Because it was what I had on when I said a final goodbye to a dear friend. (My mind is a steel trap, I tell you. I can't remember what plans I have for the day, but I know what I wore 8 years ago. Yikes.)

A picture. That my husband (before he was my husband) bought for me, even though I will never hang it on the wall again. Why? Because I'm sentimental. It was a gift.

Baby clothes. You know what, don't even get me started on the baby clothes.

This tiny little clock thing. It was my grandma's. And while I have it in a drawer because it doesn't match anything in my house, I know she loved it and so I can't seem to part with it.

I went to bed after watching that show, VOWING that the first chance I got - I was going to go medieval on the storage area. It was the most pressing matter in the house, and I couldn't even get to the back of the room without climbing a little. Eek!

I'm happy to report that within an hour and a half - it was completely clutter free, everything was back in it's place, and several things had been placed in the garage sale pile. And by pile, I mean mountain.

It's a start.

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