I have too much. Too much stuff. Too much of everything and I just can’t keep up. I could of course give it all away but let’s be realistic here that is very unlikely to happen because a) my husband would have a fit, b) my kids would have a fit, and c) not all of it is my stuff in the first place - it is theirs.
Problem is I am the one who has to sort all the stuff out whether it be mine or theirs. I have to find homes for it all then I have to ensure it is kept clean and mended; I have to put it away and not lose it. If it does get lost I have to know exactly where I put it even though I may not actually be the one who put it anywhere. Case in point: the backdoor key which was “lost” for two days. It turned up in my husband’s pocket but not before I was blamed and told that I am just too disorganised and am forever putting stuff back in the wrong place.
It’s not as if anything has a right place anyway…
I will hold my hand up and admit that I am not a naturally tidy person. But I don’t think it should be my sole responsibility to know where everything is and be able to keep it that way. The rest of the household should bear some responsibility.
My husband nods emphatically in agreement but I know that in the middle of my rant to him his nods are merely placatory because he actually wants to go and have his morning constitutional in the smallest room with only the newspaper for company.
I get a lot of nods.
But in the end they leave it to me and I feel like I am drowning.
I frequently burst into tears – when they are not here – sobbing that I cannot cope but somehow I do. Maybe it is the fantasies I have that get me through. The ones I have of burning the whole damn lot. Seeing my home go up in smoke and do you know what I smile at the thought. I imagine the relief I will feel when there is nothing to find, nothing to lose. Starting over and boy how it would be different…but in reality if it did happen I bet within a few months I would be right back where I started with far too much!