I have a lot of stuff. We're just going to put it that way. I have the tiniest apartment you've ever seen outside of NYC. Under my bed (which is totally enclosed) and in my closet are masterpieces of storage. We affectionately call the closet the Black hole of Calcutta. I keep a fairly firm handle on the rest of the house and don't let the clutter take over (no thanks to my husband, who thinks if a surface is flat he Must! Put! Something! There!) Sometimes I feel like I am battling uphill, like in the weeks after Christmas. Woe the weeks after Christmas. Sometimes I don't always feel like I succeed.
Breakthrough! I'm watching Hoarders on A&E. I totally feel like I'm content with the system now. My quasi-organized closet? JUST FINE. My under-the-bed hidey hole storage? PERFECT. The books e v e r y w h e r e?? THRILLED!
Sometimes a little perspective helps.
Now that I have made it sound like I feel like I am so much better than these people....
Let's take a moment to say that I know that that isn't right. These people are sick. Really, truly, mentally ill and would NEVER claim to be a better person based on that. More like I can see that it could be a LOT worse, and I am grateful for what I have and what I can do. I know I'll spend the rest of my life cleaning off the flat surfaces, and I'm ok with that.