Last night I watched the reality show, Hoarders…
And of course I squealed out all the typical comments…
Eeuuww! Disgusting! Gross! OMG —a pile of dirty adult diapers?
My poor brain just couldn’t conjure a path to follow…
Through these people’s minds as to WHY?
I immediately felt smug knowing that I’d never be a hoarder.
But then…
I got to thinking back a few weeks ago…
When I was sorting through my office in my apartment…
Of what to pack for my permanent move here to Akumal , Mexico
And while I am not a hoarder…
I am…
A STUFFER!
No, not junky, disgusting, or duplicate stuff…
But stuff…
Like old issues of writer mags I never read…
Clipped articles I hoped to read, but nev
Piles of business cards of people I met at writer conferences…
But never contacted…
Papers with new agent names I never followed up on…
Offers in the mail for something I thought I needed…
But never got around to ordering…
And other stuff that doesn’t even have a category…
And all this never-got-around-to stuff…
Took up space in draws, shelves, and parts of my desk.
Well, knowing I couldn’t take most of this stuff with me…
I sorted and pitched. But it was hard!
I felt attached to this stuff...
Even though I've never referred back to any of it.
So?
If I created a new reality show called, Stuffers…
Would your office or writing space qualify you as a stuffer?
Always, Em-Musing
