I’m doing a drastic house clear-out at the moment. And by drastic I mean massive. Enormous even, in anticipation of a gigantic skip arriving in a fortnight. How many ways can I articulate the word BIG in an opening paragraph?
If you stand still in my house for long enough nowadays, you’re likely to get stuffed in a black bin bag and chucked in a pile!
If you’re lucky and are considered valuable to us, you’ll get a label (of sorts, who am I kidding in my efforts at efficiency?) and start your bumpy, narrow, steep and not particularly comfortable journey up the attic stairs to rest above the rafters forgotten for eternity. If you’re not completely forgotten, I guarantee I will forget what corner of the attic you reside in, undoubtedly in a few years time after many forehead bumps and curses off the rafters, I might, just might find what I’m looking for.
If you’re pre-loved by us as a family, you’ll get piled in a box and will enjoy a more comfortable trip via the boot of my car to the local charity shop! Where you’ll make lots of new grateful friends and get sold off along with a few puzzles and a plastic plane for the princely sum of €2.
For the really unlucky ones, you’ll get a temporary reprieve in the shape of a large unwieldy pile in the back of my office, but don’t be fooled by any sense of security… you’re in the transit lounge before a journey to the skip of doom!! You will finish this journey squeezed in between old mattresses and rolls of carpet as you make your way to landfill. Unless of course you get plucked out by some eagle-eyed guy in a passing van beforehand.
When the patient and extremely sweaty guy (if I could channel some of my attic heat downstairs it would be handy!) floored part of my attic last week, his exclamation of ‘wow you’ve tonnes of space up here’ was met by me thinking ‘excellent, let’s start cramming it full of crap I should be putting in the skip pile’ while wondering just how strong my ceiling joists are…
One item I can’t bring myself to throw in the charity shop pile just yet, is an old t-shirt of mine with a wonder woman logo on it. I wore it ironically many moons ago as I staggered around succumbing to MS symptoms. At what age are you too old to wear superhero t-shirts without looking like some washed-up idiot in the throes of a mid-life crisis?
Disappointingly, mine doesn’t have a cape, but you get the idea.
Humph… I’m keeping my wonder woman t-shirt for a little while longer, while I move old furniture, pull up carpets and haul black bags full of loitering guests out to relevant piles. In the privacy of my own home, who cares? I’m wearing it in celebration that I’m feeling strong enough physically to tackle this work. Mentally I had procrastinated for long enough… I am the ruthless superhero of de-cluttering!
By the time my clear-out is finished, and the renovations are complete, as I clear dust from my tired head, I will feel entitled to wear my wonder woman t-shirt with pride! Also by that stage my empty pockets won’t stretch to much more than pre-loved clothes!!
I suggest you stay clear of my house for a month or so, or if you do visit, bring a drill and expect a paint brush thrust in your hand. Most importantly, don’t dare question the crazed middle aged woman wearing a faded wonder woman t-shirt with pride!