My guilty little secret lately is that I am addicted to the show Clean House. Niecy Nash, the host, is hilarious, but my real fascination with the show is that they go around the country finding people with the most cluttered houses and organize them. I have some sort of weird fascination in seeing just how horrible the clutter can actually be in people's homes.
But it's not nearly as simple as the clutter itself. The problem is that nobody lives in a house so overflowing with junk that they can't walk around, unless there are some emotional or psychological issues involved. So getting Joe Smith to give up his collection of 5000 Beanie Babies or Jane Jones to part with her 6200ceramic bunnies can be a problem.
I'm the anti-pack-rat - I hate clutter with a horrible passion and sweep for it on a regular basis, boxing off anything not nailed down to charity. If it doesn't fit or we don't use it, why have it collecting dust or sitting in cardboard boxes in the house or garage?
Of course, I'm married to a man with a teensy bit of pack-rat in him - he tried a couple of years ago to get me to let him keep his dot-matrix printer by offering to let me print drafts of my books on it.
My 500 page books.
This would take a week and a half. Not to mention how much my poor editor would have appreciated the eyestrain . . .
If I ever decide to quit writing, I'm going to become a professional organizer. In fact, perhaps I should audition for Clean House. I'm pretty blunt, so I could be the Simon Cowell of the show - "Are you OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND??? Why would you POSSIBLY want to keep THAT??"
On second thought, maybe I should keep my day job.