On Hoarding

Last weekend, my friend Romy – yes, I’m naming names and linking links – implied (or said rather bluntly) that I may well be guilty of hoarding. I believe she then compared my bedroom to the likes of those that appear on A Current Affair. You know the ones; these people keep so much crap in their houses that they’ve lost pets in there. It’s not pretty.

So naturally, when my lovely friend accused me of hoarding, I denied it. Vehemently. But almost as soon as she’d left for the day, I began to clean. And I mean clean. As in, I’m still not finished yet, and this incident occurred about four days ago.

In those four days, I’ve come to realise that perhaps I really am a hoarder. Or at least, I’m showing the early signs of it. For example, whilst cleaning out my cupboard I found shoebox upon shoebox filled with McDonald’s Happy Meal toys, carefully packaged from before I even moved in; a collection of diaries from Grade Three, where the most commonly used sentence was “I love school!” (Oh, how things changed); some kind of telescope made from toilet paper rolls; and my bubble-wrap overalls.

At first I was mildly repulsed that I’d held on to all these things (save for the bubble-wrap overalls, which are awesome). But it was kind of amusing to look back through all the things I’d thought were important to save. I had a good laugh reading my diaries, and became sufficiently confused trying to work out what my toilet roll contraption actually was. It was a bit of a blast from the past; a good way of reminiscing.

But that didn’t stop me throwing it all forcefully into a large garbage bag. Except for my bubble-wrap overalls.