Even after you’ve “cleaned” it, your room’s cluttered and dusty; animal stuffed and paper-laden; littered with do-dads and mementos, gumball machine prizes, gift-bag goodies, crafts, half-made crafts and discarded remnants of raw craft materials; tucked between hundreds of stuffed animals, a couple of real animals, and rocks, feathers, twigs, leaves, sand, shells and dust bunnies that come alive in winter and air-hop through the empty spaces.
You’re a keeper and a builder; a stuffer, collector and stacker. You see but don’t see the mess. Your own clutter is an inconvenient truth to you, because you hate to let anything go. And I mean ANYTHING.
I first observed this trait in you after we left our house in Carbondale. The move seemed to have little effect on you except for one “I miss our house” crying fit at the end of one night, and a distinct, possibly coincidental change in your behavior over time–the reflexive impulse to hold on to every little thing.
Was it the move that led to this behavior or were you a hoarder in a previous life? I don’t know.
It makes your mom upset. I get it. She’s always been neat. And we’ve been on a downsizing kick ever since we moved from that big, overfull Victorian in Carbondale. And you are so not helping.
What I do know is that I’ll always remember you this way, and think of it fondly. Your room makes me smile. And sneeze. But mostly smile. It looks like mine did when I was your age. (I din’t cling to clutter so much; I just liked cleaning less.)
You’re disorganized and pack-rattish. And there’s so much you love about the world, you want to own it and bring it to your space and give it a place of honor in that live-in totem of a room of yours. You may never see a memento again, or even remember why you put it there, but you enter it into your permanent collection anyway…toss it into the chaos and tell it that you love it. One more quirk I love about you so much it’s almost painful.
I hope you hang onto this blog, too.