Nowhere to hide

Call me a packrat, hoarder, disorganized or messy, I could be considered any and all of the above. Actually, it’s more about clutter. I literally have a house full of stuff. Everyone knows it. It’s obvious. I really don’t hide it. My family knows, my friends know, the neighbors know, the mailman and the gas meter reader know. I would be surprised if someone didn’t know.
The clutter is so closely associated with me that it is almost a part of my physical description (she has blond hair, blue eyes and a lot of stuff). I am a conversation starter since everyone has a favorite story about me and my stuff. It rarely bothers me because it’s true. It’s not malicious or mean spirited, it just is.  That doesn’t mean that everyone accepts it.   My in-laws are particularly disappointed in me.  I just can’t seem to conform to their view of propriety.  Regrettably, they disappoint me too.
I had always consider the clutter a choice, a manageable choice. I am able to part with my possessions, if someone comes in and admires something, I am usually able to just let them take it.  Even when we have our annual neighborhood garage sale, I am just as likely to give things away as charge for it (it drives my sister crazy).  It is a slippery slope however and I sometimes worry that I might really start to digress and eventually lose the ability to let go.
So now, I’m done. I want it gone. Not all of it of course. I’ve been working on culling the clutter for sometime now and it’s tough. I see a difference and know that the situation is not static, the problem is that its a slow process. I am changing my strategy and am going to focus on one room at a time. I expect it to be difficult but I expect to laugh along the way.
It’s declutter or bust.
First stop…the living room.