I might be giving up going upstairs to my kids’ bedrooms or to the closets there forever. Every time I do, I find more junk. Just when I have removed some junk, some new junk magically appears. While the removal of the former junk came with commentary, it must have been deemed unimportant because it was solely about not storing junk in the closets and bedrooms and how I had had enough.
I am living with four pack rats. I am forced to periodically go on crap tossing out sprees just to maintain clear fire lanes to and from doors. Why would I need papers from eighth grade? Why would anyone unless they are still in eighth grade?
And clothes from ten years ago? (okay, so I have some too, but I can almost fit into them and I am planning on doing so soon. Before the next decade, at any rate. They should be back in style about then.)
My blood pressure is much better off if I resist the temptation to travel up the stairs to the life storage space for three adult children, only one who actually still lives here. While I have the BP under control, the invasion of the things from of the past is getting put of control.
I might be having a bonfire this summer.