There’s no place like home. Even my home, where five of us live in 927 square feet [small, by American Standards… of course we Americans are notorious for having too much stuff, and I’m afraid my little family is no exception].
I rather suspect that if we didn’t have so much crap, our cramped quarters would be less noticeable. Or maybe if I was more organized, I could find room for all of it.
The problem is, whenever I start to go through stuff, I have little [or big] gremlins all around me, telling me we have to keep that, and this needs to go in the garage sale, so let’s put it in a box until we have one.
We’re never going to have a garage sale, because I did one once and refuse to do another one. Ever. Steve lives under the delusion that someday he’ll do one by himself, but that’ll never happen either.
So I have a garage bursting at the seams with all this stuff. If we had a garage sale and sold it all, we could probably make some money, but the nightmare of putting stickers on everything, and then having people come up and try to haggle on already extremely low prices gives me hives!
For example, on my first GS, I priced a music box that had either dolphins or unicorns on it [can’t remember now] that cost between 12-15 dollars new at $1. Someone tried to talk me down to 50 cents.
Another one was a three piece maternity outfit I had paid $40 for [on sale, mind you] the year before [which is a lot on my budget]. I had priced it at $3, and a woman had the nerve to ask me if I’d take $1 for it. When I said no, she gave me a dirty look, laid the outfit on my checkout table and stalked off like I’d insulted her!
Then there was the man who came up asking to buy a bicycle seat. He got in my personal space [within a foot of my body… I don’t like being that close to people I’ve met before, but with a stranger it is extremely uncomfortable] I ended up taking less money just so he’d get out of my back yard.
Steve was driving the tow-truck then, so he wasn’t there when the creepy guy showed up [of course] so after it was over, I swore I’d never do another one. I’ve been very vocal about this fact in the five years since the first one, but Stevie persists in thinking there’s stil a garage sale in our future.
He has no idea the Power I Wield!!! Mwaahahahaaaa!
I’ve been having evil thoughts of the girls in my accountability group coming over with a pickup truck, and us going through all of it and loading it up to take to Good Will sometime when Stevie’s gone. I keep trying to tell him that we need to unload some of our stuff [most of which is still in good shape and could be enjoyed by others].
My personal theory is that if we get rid of the crap we don’t need, maybe some of the stuff we do need will trickle into our lives. Steve gets twitchy when I start talking about that kind of thing. He’s madly in love with me, so he tolerates my ‘flights of fancy,’ but I suspect he doesn’t believe me when I let go one of my spiels about energy and creating a vacuum and all the other stuff that goes along with my theory about giving our stuff away.
And then there’s my natural laziness, which means I just want to load up everything and take it to the Salvation Army and let them sort it out. I don’t want to sell it on eBay. That means work. All that packaging. And trips to the post office. And all the other stuff that goes along with doing online auctions. I like to buy stuff on eBay, but I have no interest in selling stuff there.
So my house is a mess right now. The kids’ suitcase is in the living room floor, along with their dirty clothes. Seems like all three of them change clothes in the living room, and leave the clothes where ever they fall. I know, if I was a more disciplined person, I would have trained them better, but there you go.
The fact is, people, I’m a rotten housekeeper. I hate laundry and dishes. Don’t like cooking [actually, I love to cook, but I hate cleaning up the messes afterward]. I don’t like to dust, and I hate vacuuming, and anything else that resembles housework. So I put it off. Which means that stuff piles up until I can’t take it anymore and have to bite the bullet and clean.
Okay, well, all that was to say that we’re home and glad to be here. Shaya and Matthew are watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and it’s at the maze scene [the scary part, as Shaya just put it]. They get a little nervous at this point, and have requested that I join them in the living room to watch it with them.
Which means I get to put off cleaning for a little while longer.