I seldom vacuum and I’m woefully behind the dust ball. A perk of being single is it’s my mess. One of my New Year’s resolutions was that I would keep my kitchen table completely free of crap. I’ve been pretty successful, too, if you don’t notice the piles of said crap that have now managed to migrate to the counter tops.
On Chicago’s South Side this past week, two people in their 70s were found in their home buried under mounds of trash. Apparently, their neighbors began to worry when they hadn’t been seen for three weeks. The couple was hospitalized and both are expected to recover. You’d think stories like this would scare me into mending my ways.
I’m not a hoarder. I just can’t seem to win the crusade against clutter.
But if you think my house is a mess, you should see what’s going on inside my head.. There’s crap in there that’s been collecting for decades: Old grievances and fears, worries over what has/hasn’t/may happen, unrealized dreams, and a huge assortment of other useless data that may only come in handy should I one day go on a TV game show.
As another birthday approaches, I’ve resolved to finally get my house in order and to that end I intend to let go of everything that doesn’t serve my highest good.
And while I’m at it, maybe I should do the windows, too. It may help me get a clearer view on the world.