The Clutter Monster

This is gonna be a two-part blog. I can’t fully impart the reasons why I’m being attacked by the Clutter Monster (hereinafter referred to as CM) without taking time to explain why CM continually exists. So, there will be a Part II to this blog.

CM has been a part of my life forever. It’s a part of my personality and dynamic. There are some people (typically Virgos) who are very ordered and neat and organized. Files neatly labeled and color-coded, or storage bins neatly filled with cherished personal momentos are a natural part of some people’s lives (Virgos). Well, to a degree, that’s me too. As I indicated in an earlier blog, I have a little OCD regarding folding clothes and having a neat closet and drawers. Therefore, the only storage bins I have neatly ordered are those related to seasonal clothing and shoes for my children and me. Outside of that, clutter is taking over my world.

Yes, clutter. It’s gotten so out of control, I have changed the general term of clutter to the living, breathing object of… The Clutter Monster.

When I was a teenager, CM was stacks of journals and notepads and stationary and office supplies scattered in careless piles around my bedroom desk and bed. Every few months, I would spend a couple of hours carefully going through everything, discard what I didn’t need, neatly stack the books and journals and file away the papers. But I was just as busy in high school as I am as an adult – I went from school to track or swim team practice to FBLA meetings to Charmettes events (don’t ask what Charmettes is – that’s another blog) to church activities to hanging out with my friends. I would rush in the house, quick change my wardrobe, throw my bags of books and papers on the bed or the desk and grab what I needed for the next activity.

As a young adult in college, not much changed. Instead of FBLA and Charmettes, it was Student Senate and my sorority activities after classes. Instead of cluttering up my bedroom at home, now I had a whole apartment to house my papers and journals and school books and applications and stuff.

Then I graduated from college and moved into various apartments in several different cities and I had to box up my “stuff” and take it with me. Instead of stacks of papers and books and journals and crap, I had boxes of papers and books and journals and crap. Some boxes I never unpacked – I used them for tables and stands to put my plants on, or to drape my clothing over.

I would have continued in this fashion for the rest of my life if I didn’t decide to get engaged and had to co-mingle my “stuff” with my fiancee’s “stuff”. Suddenly, I enjoyed giving things away, throwing things away. I had to. Two people with 20 years worth of “stuff” can’t fit in a one-bedroom apartment without some drama, and I don’t do drama.

Purging things I didn’t need or use from my personal space was uplifting. I felt like I could hear angels singing in the heavens and the sun seemed to shine brighter in the apartment. It looked larger and I enjoyed sitting on our couch and simply looking around the living room or out the window. Why didn’t someone tell me earlier about the de-cluttering thing?

Fiancee turned into husband and one-bedroom apartment turned into a 1940s cottage nestled in a wildlife reserve. We turned the master bedroom into a party suite with a big-screen television and a huge sectional sofa so we could entertain guests all over the house. Our hard wood floors gleamed and the minimalist styling was airy and fresh. No clutter and life was good.

Baby number one ended it all. Party room – gone. Clutter-free zones – gone. Airy, minimalist styling – gone. In its place – stuff. I won’t even take the time to explain what some of the stuff was – it just existed and grew and I couldn’t purge fast enough. In the end, I gave up – literally. We sold the house and moved away from CM.

So now, here we are in a beautiful spacious home. A room for every person and thing. An empty basement housing some of the “stuff” we couldn’t part with in the move from the cottage to here. A garage housing more “stuff” we couldn’t part with in the move from the cottage to here. In fact, I was okay with “stuff” in areas of the house where I couldn’t see it on a daily basis, but slowly CM started to creep back in.

It started with the living room table where the boys do their homework. Pencils, pens, notebooks, gaming magazines, sneakers, backpacks – they just seem to gather on, next to, under, and around the living room table. It doesn’t matter how many times I clean it up or ask them to clean it up, the living room table and the surrounding area always look like a 3rd grade classroom.

It moved to the dining room table where I would drop the mail and magazines and newspapers and things to be signed and returned. Anything important would end up on the dining room table.

Then “stuff” started accumulating on the kitchen table, because that’s where we would sit to eat and discuss field trips and class pictures and new insurance and the new schedule for the studio and test results from the doctor for a childs’ fractured foot.

Then “stuff” started growing in the family room around the gaming storage unit, because GameCube became a Wii which became a PS3. There are different controllers and games for each system and manuals explaining how to get to the next level of each game and chargers for cordless PS3 controllers and chargers for batteries for the Wii controllers and a BluRay Disc thing and an Apple home unit that syncs all of this technology together so we can watch movies and family pictures all in one spot. Yeah, okay.

Finally, “stuff” attacked me in my only sanctuary – my bedroom. And I can’t blame anyone except me for it. It’s the only place for my books and journals and pens and pencils and booklets from conferences and scraps of paper with email addresses on it and thoughtful cards from family and friends and Christmas gifts from the last three christmases which I haven’t gotten around to using yet and important papers I have to attend to at some point. It’s where I go as soon as I get home from a class and quickly shower and change to go to a meeting or an event. Shoes are all around my side of the bed – flip flops and sneakers and high heels – because I will wear three different shoes to go with three different outfits every day. Every day.

Like the monster children are afraid of under the bed, my “stuff” attacks me in my sleep. I can see the mounds of “stuff” around me in shadow form as I try to doze off and it bothers me. When I wake up in the morning, it’s surrounding me. When I try to work on the computer in the bed, it’s staring at me and calling to me to clean it up, put it away… DECLUTTER DAMNIT!

So easy, so simple. Just clean it up.

I tried. But I got frustrated and distracted and I couldn’t stick to one room or one pile or one area. The entire first floor of my beautiful home is covered by the CM, and I can’t seem to get myself together to tackle it. When I do get around to cleaning off one table, the kids come home and a week passes and it’s covered again by our lives.

I hired a house cleaner. They can’t clean clutter. Only the owner of clutter can de-clutter. So I have shiny floors and well-made beds amid mounds of crap. Depressing.

So here I am at 5:00 in the morning blogging about my clutter because I can’t sleep with it looking at me, haunting me, teasing me, daring me to do something about it. When I’m done, I’ll spend a few minutes and put a couple of things away. Maybe by Christmas I will have gone through the items from last Christmas and put them away to make room for the new “stuff”. I’ll let you know how that goes.

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