Sure, I have watched Hoarders before. However, I have intentionally never let myself be suckered into a marathon round of nightmare collectors. This seems odd as I have unintentionally been suckered into weekends filled to the brim with shows about drug addict interventions, cranky old doctors who can cure anything, and detectives (Benson and Stabler, respectively) kicking ass and taking names. But earnest, mousy little collectors of all things? No. No, thank you.
Why? Well, because it's terrifying. I feel for the old spinster who clings for dear life to the dress she wore to her first rodeo while Niecy Nash beats her with a dead cat found under the rubble. I feel a little too much for her...And I haven't even been to my first rodeo yet! It's like I could be a hop, skip, and a jump away from becoming drowned in my own crap like these poor things on the show.
It's like this one time when I overheard a homeless man in Santa Cruz ranting to no one about how life is like eating a cheese burger every single day:
Sure, a cheese burger is pretty good. But do you really want a cheese burger every fucking day of your life? Hell no! You want caviar! I don't even know what caviar tastes like, but I want it. And I want cake for breakfast. And dirt for dessert. I want to taste Paris. But no, you get a cheese burger. And you take it. You know what you're missing, but you have to be okay with it.
Whoa, right? Homeless man got it right. Scary. If I can be mind-syncing with crazies in one of the hobo capitals of the world then I am in trouble. That moment kind of embodies everything that Hoarders and Clean House are to me in a weird way. Feeling connected to something you don't necessarily want to feel connected to. I teared up a little bit on the street of Santa Cruz because I'm a freak. Then I ate chocolate for lunch. It seemed appropriate. Then I bought a muffin for a different homeless man that night. But I digress...
I haven't decorated the room I sleep in here in Saratoga out of fear of letting it feel like it's permanent. Yes, I know this is a perfect storm for hoarding behavior as I save up for the next place I move. So, in the little corner next to the armoire there is a pile that has been growing growing growing....
Quite a bit of this pile is simply home-makings from previous abodes that I never bothered to unpack. Though, there are quite a few recent purchases, too. I'm not even going to try and make excuses. My move to Oregon will be my first move in 5 years where I actually have help (and an abundance at that) moving into my new place AND I can drive (opposed to flying and having bulging, tearing boxes follow me a week later). These two extremely convenient and rare luxuries have given me the false ambition to buy apartment tid-bits here and there when I see them. Of course, I will soon learn that this was stupidy-upidty of me.
As my corner of gluttony grows, the fear of my burgeoning hoarding really kicked in. Luckily, moving is also a great time to start thinking about what one doesn't need. Out with the old, in with the new. Here's my current, ever-growing give-away and garage sale pile:
Okay, so the give-away pile isn't as big as the take-away pile. Clothes pack tight. Bah. I'm working on it. Lay off me, brotha.