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Posts Tagged ‘O.C.D.’

Anyone reading my blog lately knows that we’ve been on a quest to clear some clutter.  One pile, one box, one drawer at a time.   Serial swooping tends to lead to excessive piling.  So, every now and then, it’s time to actually dig through a pile, remember what’s in it and trash all the stuff we thought we’d “get to” when we piled it up in the first place.

One day last week, while Husband was at work, I decided to clear the clutter from the top of the giant dresser in our room.  It’s BIG, an IKEA purchase (a b*tch to put together) from a few years back.  It holds our somewhat outdated (read: also BIG) clunker of television and sits against a wall a few feet from the foot of our bed.  And, I went after that sucker last week.  In my de-clutter frenzy, I removed the following items from its surface and placed them either in their rightful place in the house or their rightful place in the trash:

  • Nine hard cover books
  • An old  box full of “jewelry” circa 1988 – 1992 (tarnished silver crap,  hippie-days Fimo bead necklaces, my Tri-Delta pledge pin –yeah, yeah, yeah, judge away– anklets with jinglebells, match-less earrings)
  • A pair of fireplace / work gloves
  • A random collection of Time US, Newsweek People and National Geographic Boston magazines
  • AA batteries
  • Tyrone and Pablo (pronounced Plablo) miniatures
  • A “Disney on Ice” light up swirley stick
  • Two rolled-up retail bags with still-tagged items enclosed to be returned

Like I said, it’s a big dresser.

Husband returns home that evening, greets the kids, kisses me, dodges our always-shedding yellow labrador trying to brush up against his suit pants, and heads into our room to change.  The suspense is killing me.  I shush the kids and wait for the response that will come when he sees my masterful de-cluttering job.  And I wait.  And wait.

Out he comes.  Not a word.

“Hey!  Did you notice the dresser?”  I walk him back in.   “See?!

“Oh, yeah!  Nice going, cutie.”

Not exactly the enthusiasm I was hoping for but it’s not exactly like I ran a marathon so I’ll take it.  The night continues.

Bedtime.  We finish up watching Masterpiece Theater, World News Tonight, oh, ok….Real Housewives of Orange County and head into our room.  Going through the bedtime routine.  I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I hear from the bedroom…

“Hey!”

“Yeah?”

“What happened to my workgloves?!”

Your workgloves? I kid you not.   Turns out he used said gloves to hold his Blackberry at night so that we don’t have to listen to it vibrate at all hours.  Not a bad plan, of course, but man…sometimes you just can win.

(Of course, we would need these in our bedroom.)

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Oh, Look!

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We’ve moved a lot in the last few years.  A little more than 4 years ago we lived right here in Marblehead.  Then, we moved to Vermont.   Two years later we moved to Connecticut.  And then, about a year ago, we moved back to Marblehead.   A lot of packing, and unpacking, and packing again and unpacking again.

People say that the best thing about moving is that it forces you to weed through the stuff you don’t need so you wind up with just the essentials.   Not us.  We wound up with an entire room in our basement that’s full of boxes.  Full.  And, its not a small room.  We moved into this house in June and still that room sits.  I hate it.  And, most of these boxes have moved with us from one state to the next (some even remained sealed) and just continued to move to the next location.

Come on.  Clearly, this is sh*t we don’t need.

Nice, isn’t it?  Dontcha just want to come visit me?  No.  You don’t.  You want to call “Hoarders” and turn me in.  Admit it.

So, we’ve committed to this:  On every Saturday going forward that we are home for the weekend, our plan is to remove two boxes from that room and take them to the dump.  Whatever is in those ridiculous boxes hasn’t seen the light of day in years.  And, sure, we could go through them meticulously, post things on craigslist and eBay and host a profitable tag sale.  We could donate things to worthy charities.   But, we won’t.  The boxes will sit there.   Probably making their way to our next house in our next move.  Enough.  Judge me as wasteful, as lazy, whatever.  It’s probably true.  But, damnit, those boxes are outta here.

The other night out to dinner, Husband and I had a conversation that led to this question:

What percentage of clothes in your closet do you think you actually wear?

Husband thinks his is somewhere around 7%.   Because, he mostly wears suits and I’m a laundry maniac.  He never has a chance to get down more than one or two levels of boxers before I’ve washed them and put them right back on top in their drawer.

I’m closer to 15% but you wouldn’t know it to look at me because I have a number of the same style (it’s generous using the word “style” in any sentence pertaining to myself) of clothing that I just wear over and over.  My daily uniform is a pair of jeans (I have three in rotation at the moment), a turtleneck sweater (three again) and a fleece overshirt (two black, one red).

But, don’t those percentage numbers seem really low?  As though we have a giant closet full of items we should never have purchased?  But, we are not fashionable people.  We don’t have a whole bunch of nice things that we just buy because we think they’re stylish at the time but then we never actually wear.  Nope.  Like the boxes, there are piles of clothes in the bottom of our drawers and the back of our closets that get packed up, and moved, and packed up, and moved.  That we haven’t worn in years.  Still, in the back of the closet they remain.  (With my mirror, I might add.)  I think they like it in there.

So, how about you?  


What’s your percentage?

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Ok.  We’ll consider this a running list.

1) If I come visit your house and your toilet paper runs from the bottom of the roll instead of up and over the top, I will change it.  I will.
2) I might snore.  He says I do but he might just say that because he knows it mortifies me to hell to think it actually might be true.
3) I have a pair of UGG boots and I have no idea whether I’m supposed to tuck the jeans in or wear the jeans out (you can’t Google this sh*t with any reliability).  So, I alternate and just hope that the right people see me at the right times.  That’s probably not likely to be happening for me, is it?
4) I ignore the phone.  Like, almost always.   And, I know that most people who call me probably know I’m home because I live on a busy road, people see my car, I have a very predictable schedule and, well, I almost never go anywhere.  But, don’t take it personally.  It’s not you.  It’s me.
5) I am incapable of going to bed with dishes in the sink.  Can not do it.  So, when you’re a guest for dinner or here for a weekend, don’t be offended if I ignore you for a bit after dinner while I clean up.  I will be much better company when it’s done.  If it really bothers you, then let me know because I’ll probably need to stop inviting you over.  And, if I’m being completely honest, it makes me a little uncomfortable if I’m an overnight guest at your house and you leave dishes in the sink overnight.  I know.  Issues.  Oh well.

To be continued…

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I just have to say.  Obsessively Compulsive people such as myself make excellent snow shovelers.

Unfortunately, Obsessively Compulsive people, such as myself, are also not capable of posting a picture of the outside of one’s house without noticing the flag is caught up on the pole.  Therefore, leading one to grab a large broom, a kitchen chair, head outside to climb said chair, and stand on tiptoes (risking one’s life on the icy brick path) so as to immediately fix the hung-up flag.
There.  Much better.
Man, I swear.  It’s a wonder I accomplish anything during the day.

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