(Not the actual rodent variety.)

I know I have mentioned, once or twice, that I live in a house of packrats.  This is becoming more and more problematic as, since hubby has retired from the military, we no longer have to be concerned about weight limits for moves.

Of course, before I go on any further, let it just be said that this does not cause ANY problem whatsoever for the packrat themselves. . .only those forced to live with them.

This is becoming a problem. . .I mean, for me, this is becoming a SERIOUS problem.

I have discovered that I tend to rearrange a LOT.  I am attempting to respect a certain pack rat’s junk, but it is invading my space.  So, I rearrange.

I’m about ready to stop respecting someone’s crap. . .but, thusfar, I have managed to deal.

However, whenever I go into a a situation where I am forced to rearrange “stuff” I find myself walking away from the situation fuming mad.  It takes me days to settle down, and recall that I love this person, and that’s assuming I don’t run into another stash of theirs in the interim.

So, I attempt to compensate.  All my stuff is kept to a minimum.  But, that isn’t enough to compensate. . .

Now I’m working on the boys stuff, and I am showing a serious lack of respect for their junk.  I know what they play with, and I know what just sits there, so the dust collectors are leaving the building.

It’s taking an amazing amount of time.  I have mentioned before that my boys like to keep the boxes of their stuff.  So, I determined if I have the box and the manual, then I’m going through to make complete collections before carting off to Goodwill.  Some of this is “good” stuff too!  (Lego robotics, for example.)  But, in an effort just to get it OUT of my house, I don’t care!  It’s all going to goodwill.

It has been 3 days now since my last “rearranging”; I suspect it is still amazingly clear how furious this makes me. . .


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