Alright, I'm officially paranoid. I thought I had purged in the past, but yesterday was a lightshed. I thought I would spend a couple of leisurely hours on the last round of purging, then about an hour arranging, and be finished quickly so Didge and I could move some furniture around before dinner.
No.
At 9pm, I gave the hell up. Purging took until about 7pm, and this still isn't the last round. I found things that there was simply no good reason to hold on to, stacks of mail from home offices of my past that had absolutely no value whatsoever, and piles of printed material from long-gone phases of brief interest. There are six bags of trash waiting for Thursday morning pickup. I have five bags of clothes going to Goodwill. There's more to be gone through, although I would say I have half of it knocked out now. I think.
I think what might have happened is a collection of "good enough" attempts at clearing out all of this crap. Didge taking up residence (as husbands do) finally necessitated diving in and really getting it all done, so until this point I had no freaking clue I'd amassed this much shit. Mind you, I'm not beating myself up, I'm honestly in total shock over how profound my apparent desire to avoid dealing with all of that had become.
I'm really wishing I hadn't watched an OnDemand marathon of A&E's "Hoarders" a couple of weekends ago when I was recovering from bronchitis.
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