Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I woke up this morning and lay in my bed looking around my room. I have stacks of books and papers everywhere. There are boxes with Christmas gifts sitting next to my bed because there is no place for them in our tiny house. In the corner are two knitting baskets, filled with wool and needles, some from college which was a very, very long time ago. I have a tote bag filled with scarves and wraps sitting on a chair and all of Halloween in giant orange plastic bins ready to be swallowed up by the hole in the ceiling to the attic above. My desk is covered in books and papers and cards that I love, my leadership training materials and binders, cords from the camera and the jump sticks for the computer and a bottle of hand lotion and a tiny picture of Sophie when she was five. I am lying in bed, wondering if perhaps I'm slowly disappearing whether I'm a potential hoarder although when I discuss this one hour later on the phone with my best friend she tells me that hoarders have toilet paper smeared with feces that they can't throw away and I'm nowhere near that so I'm relieved but still there's all this stuff and I love it all, I do.