The Little Things

My house is a disaster.

We’ve lived in this house for almost ten years. The first year we lived there, I painted every room on the first level except the tiny half bath. It’s fine.

I painted the upstairs hallway, both bathrooms and two of the four bedrooms.

In the ensuing years, I have painted…nothing. It’s just not high on the priority list.

The clutter is what’s getting to me; the boxes of crap sitting in corners of rooms. It either needs to be tossed or stored but I need to get it out of the corners. And yet, I’m never actually motivated to just sit down and go through these boxes when I’m actually at home. They sit there, taunting me as I’m doing other things, things that can’t be put off, like laundry, dishes, making food for my family to consume.

Sigh.

It feels like a metaphor for my life. The clutter that is in my head, the crap I put into my body. I need to do something about all of that too and yet…it sits there, like the boxes in the corners of my house.