Getting rid of the crap.

You would think that by now I would understand this: less stuff makes me happier.
When we first moved into our house, we had a junk room. Each. Mine was mostly vintage clothes (selling on eBay was a good side income back then) ballet stuff, and uni textbooks/body of work. Journals, boxes of books… Stuff.
His was Lego, world of Warcraft, miniatures, paint, a billion magic cards, and obsolete encyclopedias in 27 fortnightly installments.

Mine got gradually emptied (thanks, eBay!) and regifted. One summer I stacked a thousand books in our lounge and gave everyone who came over a shopping bag. Then I called the diabetes foundation and they came in a truck and took away the last six hundred.
After about two years of tiptoeing over and around Michael’s stuff, I threatened him with non-marriage unless I could see the floor. I think we got a skip.

Since entering baby land, this stuff has crept up again. I can’t embrace minimalist living. Can’t. We each have hobbies that by their nature require stuff. I crochet, knit, sew, read, and have an inconvenient obsession with vintage fashion. He paints, plays board games, collects Lego… and then there’s the kid, with her fast-growing library, duplo assortment, eighteen baby dolls…
(Ok. More like eight.)

What did I do? I bought bin liners. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Author: Chelsea

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