I don’t think of myself as a big acquirer of things. I don’t collect anything in particular except books I want to read at least once more, and movies I want to watch a few more times. I’m relentless with my closet decluttering–if it doesn’t fit, and it’s in a direction I don’t want to go (up) or a lot farther away than I expect to get in the next few months, out it goes. Someone will be happy to find it at Goodwill, but I’m not storing it.

My housemates probably (certainly) get tired of hearing about it. “I never wear this.” “So get rid of it.” “But what if I need it later?” “Get rid of it.” Or the child, “I can’t wear this anymore and it makes me mad.” “Okay, toss it.” “But I love it!” “You’re not going back to your 12yo body. Toss it.” “But I love it!”

Both have been called hoarders. I know it’s not true, but I do tease them about it. Especially the book-collecting housemate. I tease her about being a book-collecting dragon, except when Tolkien described dragon hoards he spoke of dragons “not enjoying a brass ring of it” and my housemate most certainly reads and enjoys her books!

All that said, can anyone tell me WHERE all the crap I’ve been packing is coming FROM? THERE’S SO MUCH. Boxes and boxes and bags and more boxes…what the hell? What is this stuff and where did it come from? And why didn’t I know it was there?

Much of that pile isn’t mine. There’s kitchen packing in there, and both the housemates, and some bathroom stuff…but lots of it IS mine, and I just don’t understand where it all came from.

Because I don’t have stuff! So I should probably figure out who the heck has been stashing their stuff in my closet and bookshelves and such. It’s ridiculous that I have to move their stuff…

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Writer, mom, widow. Anything else is transitory.

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