Me the Clutterbug
Clutter, clutter everywhere
Clutter, clutter I don’t care
Clutter, clutter disappear!
I admit…I’m a clutterbug. The worst case even. Sadly, I did not inherit my mom’s neat genes or her freakinees in order. My mom has been telling me for years to keep things in order. I try, I tell you, but I guess I haven’t tried enough because, up to this day, clutter seem to pile up all over. I am making my husband’s life a living hell with all my clutter. First, my clothing. He is amazed at the tons of clothing I have collected through the years. Clothing 10 years old or more, still hiding at the back of my closet, waiting to be worn again, finding the perfect occasion or the perfect waistline. He wonders for my need to go shopping for more clothes when I have clothes that could probably last me a year without laundry. He argues that if I purchase new clothes every now and then, I might as well dispose of the old. I have been doing so, and yet, somehow, some old clothes remain. I reason that they’re too good to be disposed of, the style might just come back, and worse, Zoe might love wearing her mom’s clothes when she grows up! Call me a sentimental fool, call me sentimental foolish.
My clutter doesn’t end there. I have a hundred Sanrio pencils stacked somewhere in the house, a collection I fancied back in high school (the chocolate wrappers, thank goodness, I threw away before my mom threw a fit); different fabrics which I plan to have made into pants, blouses, pillowcases (again, they’re still there, waiting for the right time); letters and Christmas cards piled up from years ago; and bills, both paid and unpaid, squeezed into a letter rack. I can rattle on and on about my clutterpile but I dare not, for fear that I might suddenly fancy them once more. I have been quite comfortable with what clutter I have, to a fault already, because it’s been stopping me from moving onward and getting things done, and because it’s taking up too much of our space at home.
And so, little by little, step by step, I try to say goodbye to them. I have been quite familiar with them all these years that I don’t even know where to start or how to begin my goodbyes. Sometimes I think that my brain was structured so differently and that the circuits connecting each lobes are too much of a mess to begin with. My husband tells me that I should have a system of sorts. It might have been easier if I was born with one. I’m much of a feather that goes where the wind lets me, and I hate taking charge, even of myself for that matter. But things have got to change, for the better at least, before my clutter gets the better of me and I end up stepping on everyone’s toes. Wish me luck.