Drama? I'm too fifty for that.
Snotty little cliques and cool tables? I'm too fifty for them too.
Well folks, in attempting the Domino Days organizing challenge, I have added yet another item to the list. Apparently, I'm too fifty to organize.
It's true. Younger Debbie was a focused organizer who would fix her target and execute her plan. Vintage Debbie seems to have developed something that I call Organization Deficit Disorder, or ODD.
I'm blaming the hormones.
I always blame the hormones.
For over a week now, I've meandered from closet to closet, pulling everything out and dumping it on the floors (and beds and tables and chairs) of the nearest room. Then I would sort of stare at it helplessly, head to the next closet, and do the exact same thing. Seriously. My house looks like a scene from one of those hoarding shows.
Minus the filth and feces and dead cats.
Young Debbie never embarked on a reorganizing adventure without a plan. She used the domino theory, reorganizing her schtuff into new storage spaces as they became available.
Looking out over the first pile in the first room, however, Vintage Debbie decided that she was just too fifty to keep moving it.
In fact, Vintage Debbie started to get a little irked that "it" was there to begin with. She got a little testy with Young Debbie for priding herself on organization that's really not organization at all.
The art of storing and organizing schtuff which has no useful purpose.
It took me fifty years, folks, but I finally reached my breaking point. Not only am I tired of moving it; I'm tired of storing it. I'm too fifty to keep storing it any longer.
The problem is that I wouldn't have stored this stuff if I didn't believe that it had some sort of value, either economically or emotionally. For that reason, I can't just toss or donate willy nilly. Instead, I need to go through every pile with a fine- toothed comb.
Now, I've never had to use a fine-toothed comb, but I'm pretty sure I get the concept. I'm pretty sure that it requires combing, and combing, and then combing some more.
Therefore, that's what I've been doing. I've been combing through the stuff I've been storing. I'm trying to use the O.D.D. to my advantage by meandering from pile to pile and back again. I'm utterly unwilling to start room reassignments until I have completed the purge of a lifetime.
That's the reason that I still don't have anything to show for it, and the reason that all my hard work has not been yakkable. I mean, really... who wants to hear someone ramble on about her piles of schtuff?
Oops. I guess you just did.
So what about you?
Are you too fifty (or sixty or seventy) for something?
Care to share what it is?