in our front room. Or so it would seem. Our dining table is covered from end to end with papers and pens and half finished crossword puzzles and cycling gear and buttons and cereal boxes and books and cables and napkins and sugar and then some. On my cheeriest days it annoys me and I try to tidy it. On my darkest days I think I’m becoming a creepy old cat lady, hoarding crap like my brain keeps meaningless trivia. It worries me. I have friends who seem to own nothing extra, nothing without a purpose, nothing orphaned by indecision. Their homes are spare and clean and organized. Their homes smell good and look pretty. I want my home to be like that.
My husband is overwhelmed by the junk drawer in our kitchen. I think he looks in and finds such chaos that he can’t discern a difference between one item and the next. I understand that so completely when I look at our front room today. It just makes my brain hurt and I don’t know where to begin. I think in the face of it I tend to shut down, to go in another room or even go in another house. That can’t be good.
It’s about 2:15 p.m. now. I have less than an hour before I must leave to pick up my son from school. I haven’t had lunch, so I’ll have to do that first, but I should do something about this room, right? I should just throw out one thing or put away one paper. I should do something…anything….right?