(Warning. This is a whiny post full of self-pity. Just so you know up front.)
I'm overwhelmed and cannot begin to stand up under this weight. Haven't been able to in four years.
Here, you decide if this is chaos:
For the most part I try and ignore it because I don't feel like I can do anything about it and there's nothing worse than feeling like you can't fix the problems you're staring at. The dog hair. The bazillions of plastic cups. The toys from McDonald's Happy Meals. The textbooks. The craft supplies. The pieces of paper that hold information I'd meant to blog about but can't ever find time/energy to actually craft into a post. The poisonous bug sprays I want to throw out. The candles. The twine. Even my clothes---they're just... everywhere. Out in the open. Without belonging or fitting anywhere.
|Also my bedroom|
Yes, I have a vacuum. You'd think the dog hair problem wouldn't be insurmountable. But the vacuum gets plugged and runs out of batteries. The biggest problem, though, is that in order to vacuum you need to have the floor picked up. And in order to pick-up you should put stuff away (not just shove it into tubs/closets/bags randomly). And in order to know where things should belong you should know what you actually have so you can label a specific space for them. But in order to know what you have, you need to pull everything out and down and look it over. And you need to be prepared to toss out the stuff that you don't need (the broken stuff. the stupid stuff. the old, unused stuff. the stuff you hate) and only keep what you actually want and will use.
|My daughter's bedroom|
And if you don't feel like you can make those decisions at the moment (to rearrange or toss stuff)? Well, you do what I do. You ignore the space in which you live. Pretend it 's not there. That all is well. That nothing's wrong. You ignore your surroundings until awareness comes streaking at you through momentarily unveiled eyes. And then the naked ugly truth makes you despair. And you cry. And then, because you can't spend your life crying, you bottle it up, push it all back, and keep on going. You pretend that it doesn't bother you to live amidst chaos. And that works for a few days and then you despair and cry again and then bottle it back up once more. Rinse and repeat.
And sometimes you write blathering blog posts about how you cannot seem to find the gumption to organize your own damn house. Because it doesn't really feel like your house, your stuff. (I suppose because you are constantly trying to ignore that it exists?)
Please tell me that Clean House or some other such reality TV show from TLC will come rescue me? I'd even settle for a really thorough burglary (just please take the Happy Meal toys too, Mr. Burglar!).