Clutter Run Amok Perchance
Today, my dear readers, I find that I must pose a deeply philosophical question. It will take all of your deepest thought, every bit of your education, your most spiritual reflection...
How many googly eyes are really too many??
I'm starting a new organization: Clutter Run Amok, Perchance (CRAP.) (Oh, all right, make up your own dang clever acronym.)
I've been working on organizing the Pygmy Office. (You know, I actually found it fairly offensive that this house was built with a three feet by three feet CELL that was labeled the "maid's quarters." But then I realized that the builder didn't really mean it. I mean, he also labeled the tiny bar between the kitchen and the dining room a "butler's pantry." Clearly the man had been watching way too much Masterpiece Theater. I don't even KNOW anyone who has a butler, do y'all?)
(But I digress.)
Earlier today, I took all of the boxes of Clutter Run Amok, Perchance, out of my tiny office. Which left it still looking very cluttered, only now you can see the floor.
Of the office, I mean. You can now sort of see the floor of the office.
In the living room, though, where I took the boxes? No floor in sight.
I meant business, though. I got my trusty box of garbage bags
and I had my trusty sidekick
and I got BUSY.
I was ruthless.
See this finger-painting done by Jane at two-and-a-half years old?
Gone.
See this sheet music left over from the first show I ever performed in college?
Gone.
See this packet of information and exercises left over from Scout's obedience training? (Excuse me for a minute: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Ah, me.)
Gone.
After two solid hours of work, the pile looked like this:
I had a black bag full of trash, a box for Goodwill and two paper bags of recycling:
My trusty helper was exhausted:
I figure at this rate, by Christmas I should have cleared enough floorspace to make room for the tree.
How many googly eyes are really too many??
I'm starting a new organization: Clutter Run Amok, Perchance (CRAP.) (Oh, all right, make up your own dang clever acronym.)
I've been working on organizing the Pygmy Office. (You know, I actually found it fairly offensive that this house was built with a three feet by three feet CELL that was labeled the "maid's quarters." But then I realized that the builder didn't really mean it. I mean, he also labeled the tiny bar between the kitchen and the dining room a "butler's pantry." Clearly the man had been watching way too much Masterpiece Theater. I don't even KNOW anyone who has a butler, do y'all?)
(But I digress.)
Earlier today, I took all of the boxes of Clutter Run Amok, Perchance, out of my tiny office. Which left it still looking very cluttered, only now you can see the floor.
Of the office, I mean. You can now sort of see the floor of the office.
In the living room, though, where I took the boxes? No floor in sight.
I meant business, though. I got my trusty box of garbage bags
and I had my trusty sidekick
and I got BUSY.
I was ruthless.
See this finger-painting done by Jane at two-and-a-half years old?
Gone.
See this sheet music left over from the first show I ever performed in college?
Gone.
See this packet of information and exercises left over from Scout's obedience training? (Excuse me for a minute: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Ah, me.)
Gone.
After two solid hours of work, the pile looked like this:
I had a black bag full of trash, a box for Goodwill and two paper bags of recycling:
My trusty helper was exhausted:
I figure at this rate, by Christmas I should have cleared enough floorspace to make room for the tree.
Comments
That came out wrong...
But seriously, how can you part with that Clutter Run Amok? I have stuff from 1983 that I *cannot* throw out. (And explaining that would mean having to explain what *grade* I was in at the time, y'know?)
I was cleaning madly for the babysitter coming today and all I could think was "For the love of all that is holy, let her have no cause to go to the basement."
I was Senior Conductor for a special concert in high school. I was supposed to be able to choose any piece I wanted, so I chose Armenian Dances. The band director made me switch to the Pink Panther. I think he was jealous of my dexterity with 5/8 timing.
You'll be amazed at how quickly stuff disappears from the property during the inspection phase. :-)
Just don't look in the garage. And no the Foster kids aren't allowed in there without supervision for a reason.
Why is it so difficult to let go of these pieces of our past? Good luck!
Hey, good job on a tackle.
But you gotta stop inspiring me. I'm getting worn out.
Hmmmm...I guess that's why I need to join CRAP, too.
I'm trying to do the same thing at our house.
You're way way ahead of me though.