I lead a very cluttered existence. Not only is my brain a jumble of thoughts - and it really is amazing that I'm able to write this blog at all, what with all the riff raff throwing loud toga parties in there - but my home is becoming increasingly disorganized and chaotic with each passing day. Especially since Chicky came along, and with her came all the crap you need to keep a baby happy and healthy (read: Annoyingly loud primary-colored plastic toys) but she's not the only one to blame. Through the years I've adapted to Mr. C's way of dealing with clutter: as long as there is a path from the bed to the bathroom to the kitchen and out the door there's no problem. Clutter? What clutter? I don't see any clutter. La la la laaahh.
Every flat surface is covered with something - I have no idea what that something is half the time - and our closets are overflowing with more stuff. Now, stuff is a very important word here, because as I said before, I have no idea what most of the crap (stuff) is or why we have it (the stuff).
My dream is to live in a home where injury is not risked by opening a closet door, where pots and pans are easily found without toppling over the All-Clad and Calphalon mountain, and where counter tops can be actually used for preparing food and not for holding the overload of... well, stuff. I'm hoping by living with less physical clutter I'll also be able to start unjumbling my mind.
Unjumbling. Not a word, but that just shows you how fecked up my head can be. Unjumbling sounds perfectly fine to me. Oh yes it does.
But with so much disorganization it's hard to know where to start. The simplest of tasks leads me right into a landmine that will surely blow up to be a major home remodel. We need to add a new wing to the house! We'll call it "The Stuff Wing"! That makes perfect sense!
This is all made worse by the fact that I am the supreme ruler of the pack rats and have an extremely hard time throwing anything away. I suppose that's the danger in being middle class: We have just enough money to buy things but when a certain possession outlives its usefulness I can't pitch it. It could possibly be used for something else one day.
(But, but... That extra long woman's sport coat from the 80's, the ones with the shoulder pads you could use to fly a plane with, that could come into style. Or maybe I could just sew the shoulder pads together and use them as a body pillow.)
I have gotten better. The sheer number of toys that Chicky has acquired has forced me to make some changes. We didn't do it this spring, but I'm really hoping to have a yard sale this fall to get rid of some of the
junk exquisite items we don't use anymore. And I've brought more bags of clothes (mine and Mr. C's) to the Salvation Army than I can count. So that's a start.
It's just not enough, however. I need to make some serious changes or the mounds of clutter will just topple over and bury me one day.
Let me show you what I mean.
(I'm going to hate myself for showing you these pictures but this is how desperate I am for help.)
Scares you, doesn't it?
This picture does not do the clutter justice. Seriously. When I walk past my closet I swear something reaches out and tries to grab me.
Let's break it down into sections.
(And you can click the pictures for a better look. It really should be experienced in all its glory.)
Here's the shoes and my past feeble attempts at organization:
The pants and skirts section:
The Shirts and Sweaters:
1.) Do not adjust your monitors, that is, in fact, my letterman's jacket from high school. I have a good reason for that being there, promise. 1b.) I'm feeling really old right now. 2.) I think there are some dresses way back there but they're hard to see with my youth standing in the way. 3.) Fringe, need I say more? 4.) Another shot of my youth, uh, flannel. Plus! Three fleece vests and a puffy down vest! Yes! I work with dogs for a living! How did you know?!
Somebody help me.
(To be continued...)