Oh, how these boxes mock me!
At the beginning of summer, I decided my sanity could no longer tolerate the clutter that lurked in every corner of our home. The problem is that Z and I never properly purged our belongings when we moved in together. Mostly my things sat piled up in corners in the condo. I only unpacked my clothes and necessities. We lived like that for almost two years. And when we moved into the house, we made no attempt to pare down what we owned — so along came two irons, two brooms, two too many dressers. It was Noah’s Ark for the Organizationally Challenged.
I started by organizing the office/guest room/whatisthis?idon’tknow.putitinthere room. I put our financial files in order. I assembled the desk. I hooked up electronics. I dumped drawers and restocked. I put Z’s DVDs in alphabetical order. [Now, before you scoff, the man had three and four copies of his favorite movies all because he couldn’t remember if he owned them already.] It took three days and there was more than one “Oh cool, I forgot we had this!” moment.
The next dreaded task was the bathroom with it’s multitudes of half-empty conditioner bottles. Then it was the laundry room cupboards filled with wires and pipes and nails left from the previous owner, who I believe was gifted the items from the owner before him. I moved on to the bedroom, which wasn’t that bad actually. And now I’m back at the kitchen… and the two boxes. Those two boxes have been shoved to the side for more than a year. The contents are a mystery to me. In reality, it would probably take all of 15 minutes to empty both boxes, put away the items and break down the cardboard. Oh, but what if it isn’t that easy?! What if there is just more clutter in there? Or worse… a colony of creatures that have set up house — and shop. How I dread to open these boxes. But they are the last two. I just need to do it. Get it over with. Declare my house clutter free and move on with my life.