In a way this is like a New Year's resolution, only in summer. I have finally come to the conclusion that I am not perfect. I have detected flaws in my character and day-to-day existence. These are shortcomings based not on actions, but on inactions. To be specific, I am a pack rat with an 11 rating on a 10 scale. Occasionally, I shake my head at the density of my imperfection. To compound the situation, I am a disorganized pack rat, making me dangerous to myself and all available storage space. It's convenient to say this is a recent affliction, but that would be dishonest (or a disremberance to paraphrase baseball legend Roger Clemens). The bare naked truth can not be avoided; I have suffered this disease since birth.
Curiosity prompted me to research the official definition for my synonym. There were two in the Oxford American Dictionary. The first being, "A person who saves unnecessary objects, or hoards things." Yep, that's on the mark. The second struck me at the core: "A rat-like rodent that accumulates a mound of sticks and debris in the nest hole." My self-esteem dropped quicker than General Motors stock value. Most of my friends, peers, and colleagues have moved past the obvious visual evidence on daily display. I know the pile of miscellany on the desk in my classroom has crossed the line from messy to ridiculous when I can't see the students while sitting in my chair. That may be a positive for privacy, but a distinct negative for daily communication. I felt a little embarrassed last June when I discovered my class schedule from 2005 at the bottom of the mountain. The saying, "A place for everything, and everything in its place," has little or no meaning for yours truly. Each year I swear I will clean my desk daily before heading home. At the end of each year I start swearing because it never happened. However, the collection at school is a mere twig in the forest compared to the collective panorama I have accrued in the confines of my humble condominium. When vacation began several weeks ago, I firmly set my goal to attack and defeat my extreme case of PACKRATITIS.
As I sit typing away, I do so with mixed feelings. Three weeks to go before school starts yet again. On 8/08/08 I will "celebrate" 20 years of residence in my two-bedroom, two-bath version of the American Dream. Hard to imagine, but I think I still possess several shirts and a blue, gray, and white-checked sport coat from that first day. They've been hiding in plain sight. I have filled five of the largest heavy duty trash bags the HEFTY company produces. I have taken four computer-sized boxes of used books to the buy-them-back store. I have stacked my remaining 732 books (the ones I could never part with) according to subject. I have removed the cans of Dennison's Chili, Campbell's soups, and C&H Cane Sugar from the pantry . I would have taken them to a food bank, but I just missed the 1994 cut-off date. Not even C-Rations could last that long. I have riddled the communal trash bins with a collection of items long past the human consumptive threshold. I have tossed out old suitcases, a disabled vacuum cleaner, checkbook records from 1993, '94, and '95 (I think I'm safe with the IRS). But guess what? I'm barely HALF finished! It's not as bad as my former address where I needed two other people to help cart the old newspapers to the recycling center. However I keep getting this salmon-spawning feeling that I'm swimming upstream. My next mission is to battle the extra sofa in the living room. It has been disguised as both closet and book case in the recent past. I'm not quite sure about its true color. In the near future I hope to establish a solid presence on my ironing board (currently laden with an eclectic combination of shirts, books, bills, pictures, Cuisinart Mini-Chopper, steam iron, and the 137 pencils I discovered in various nooks and crannies). I think my school keys are there too, but that will take some digging.
From time to time I gaze longingly at the phone with tempting thoughts of dialing 1-800-GOT JUNK. It would be a simple solution to eliminate EVERYTHING and start over.
A few years ago my brother and his bride journeyed south from Portland and spent several days here. Their mission was two-fold. He was to paint the interior, and she had volunteered to organize my mess. When they finished it was like a new residence. I promised faithfully to maintain the results of their intensive labor.
The promise lasted about two weeks until I reverted. It's been downhill since. Although they are still a wonderfully generous and loving family, I know that deep down both are saddened by my failure.
Thus my plight. I'll continue to battle the elements. It's kind of like trying to cut the White House lawn with a pocket knife. AAARRRGH!!!
Have to run; I just discovered another box of tax records from 1992. HELP!
MM
1 comment:
"Each year I swear I will clean my desk daily before heading home. At the end of each year I start swearing because it never happened" - Oh how I can relate to this. I have cleaned off the chair in my home office and discovered it has a pattern! and the the TWO desk tops at right angles to each other --one would think that would be plenty of room BUT already as school opening approaches, there are piles of papers on the overstuffed chair and "to do Now!" folders (dated 2004) still waiting for attention BUT HARK, I need to write that course outline and the classroom rules so, oh well there is always NEXT summer. Sigh. This is too close to the truth, Mike.
Post a Comment