The clutter has finally driven me ’round the bend, and for the past few days I’ve been trying to channel my inner neat freak. Problem is, I don’t have a place for everything, so there are piles and piles of stuff everywhere. We have two whole rooms devoted to the stashing of stuff we don’t know what to do with–not to mention a basement and a huge garage–and still there are stacks of books and clothes and toys and whatnot balanced precariously on counters and tabletops and windowsills and every other surface where stuff can be piled.

What I really need to do, I know, is get rid of some of this stuff, but that’s much easier for me to say than do. I have such emotional attachments to things and that makes it very hard to toss anything out. I find myself hanging on to the most ridiculous things–for instance, there’s been a broken videotape sitting on my kitchen counter for weeks that I can’t bear to part with. The reason? My mom sent it to Tage a couple of years ago, and that gives it some sentimental value for me. No matter that he can’t watch it anymore because it’s broken, I’m keeping it. Throwing it away feels like throwing away a little bit of my mom’s love. Can’t do it.

On that same counter is an oil lamp that Olof bought me a few years back at the Salvation Army thrift store. I tried to use it once, long ago, but it didn’t work. Not only that, but I think it’s kind of ugly, and it’s done little more than sit around collecting dust since I’ve had it. All the same, I worry that if I don’t keep it Olof will see it as a rejection.

I could list scores more of useless items I’m keeping around for similar reasons, and the thing is, even I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it. My mom wouldn’t care if I threw away a broken videotape and I doubt Olof even remembers that he was the one who bought the oil lamp, but I remember and I care. What I’m trying to sort out now–along with my cluttered house–is why do I care?