As the Vix Household gene pool has a lot of OCD: Hoarder Division chromosomes swimming around in it, we like to scare ourselves straight every so often.
After spending a chunk of the holiday weekend watching 4 hours of hardcore decluttering shows in a near-row, I’ve decided scared-straight-once-removed is a far superior way to experience homes that have too much crap in them. Turns out it’s just as motivating to sit on my butt ogling piled-up boxes, papers, and unspeakable junk as it is to visit an OH MY GOD GET ME GASOLINE AND MATCHES abode!
And it’s so much less stressful.
The downside of acquiring such externally-driven motivation is that one has to act quickly before it flees. While Mr Vix returned to his basement clear-out project, I decided to plow through all my “I’ll recycle this after I read/cook/re-enact it” towers and to take on my overflowing, horridly dusty bedroom bookshelf.
[Because really, the odds that a future houseguest couldn't get along without a borrowed copy of Scruples 2 are pretty slim.]
It’s all very freeing, once one gets over the guilt of thinking:
If I were a better person, I’d save all these things which could help me be a better person.”
Unfortunately, some dreams die harder than others. Granted every single book is now dust-free and uncrowded…
Mr Vix's childhood sock monkey + non-compulsively-collected pottery top a random variety of tomes
but I’ve been meaning to do something arty with my accessories forever, and I’m no closer to a solution than before. In fact, I’m probably farther away given that I no longer have this tearsheet to shame—er INSPIRE—me into changing the status quo:
Coming to terms with the fact that my accessories and I aren't "goin' there"
A “quo” which involves eco-friendly but pedestrian boxes.
Semi-accepting that the non-crown jewels are staying here
If only disposing of a sliver of paper didn’t trigger an endlessly-looping set of rhetorical questions:
If I lived a catalogue life, would a sock monkey guard my jewels?
If I lived a catalogue life, would Mr Vix have an addiction to tools?
Guess it’s good to know that for every self-defeating crazy I escort out of my life, there’s an equal and opposite crazy ready to take its place. Normally I’d be at least somewhat tempted to have a good wail about that—but with ole Sock Monkey’s newly glittering eyes just DARING me to fall apart, I’m determined to hold steady. Too bad I didn’t unearth my stiff upper lip from beneath a mound of past-their-sell-date magazines….
Perhaps I'll reframe this as "my little corner of delight" vs my accessory-station failure
Filed under: family, guilt, home decor + renovations, letting go | Tagged: accessories, imperfection, there's medication for that | 4 Comments »