I am surrounded by clutter, in drawers, closets, my car, on bookshelves, tables and counters. I can’t escape it. It’s everywhere. I can’t breathe.
I want to pick my house up and shake out all it’s contents. I don’t want to sort, file, store. I’m no good at doing things like that in the first place. Thus, I am surrounded.
I want to embrace some sort of minimalism, trash that fake tree sitting in the corner of my den, collecting dust. I want to throw out the wobbly table, the chairs we never use, the million plus batteries that we will someday get around to recycling properly. I want to pair my closet down to five shirts, five pants, a dress and a skirt or two. I want to throw out every mismatched, f-ing sock that I hold onto in hopes that one day I will find it’s match. I want to burn every scrap of paper, no matter what information it holds.
I want to paint the walls white and accent with a FEW well chosen accessories. I want to rip that God forsaken pink rug off my bedroom floor and replace it with hardwood floors. I want to tear down the outdated toile wallpaper in my bathroom and replace the undersized, sponge painted vanity with cabinets that are simple and clean.
I want to be able to find something, anything when I need it. I don’t want to have to keep wasting my money and time replacing things that I’m sure I already have. I want to throw out all the things I don’t use, instead of waiting for someday, which never seems to come. I want serenity. I want to breathe again.