How much clutter can a glutton gather if a glutton was gathering clutter?
(Apologies to the person who wrote “How Much Wood Would A Woodchuck Chuck”.)
So, really, how much clutter can a glutton gather? With only 6 more sleeps before Thomas arrives, I am now the proud owner of one CLEAN apartment. My weekend of excavation yielded some interesting stats:
6 – Paper Recycling Wheelie Bins
2 – Glass Recycling Wheelie Bins
8 – General Garbage Wheelie Bins
2 – Garbage Bags of clothes to be donated
1 – Garbage Bag of shoes
2 – Vacuum Cleaner Bags
Yes folks, that’s what I threw out. And there is still capacity to condense my stuff some more.
After 6 years of living in my apartment, it was finally time to make it a home instead of treating it like a transitional residence. When I first moved into my apartment, I had plans and visions of travelling and working overseas soon afterwards, and reasoned that if I unpacked everything, I would have to repack when I left. I reasoned that it would be easier to just leave most of my stuff in boxes, and after a while, I even forgot what was in the boxes. Those travel plans have been postponed time and time again, and so too did the plans to unpack. Soon enough, I was accumulating more stuff and found myself running out of room to house my belongings.
Everything I owned started piling up – mountains of stuff – old uni text books and readers I couldn’t bear to part with which cost so much at the time of purchase, equipment and knick knacks I acquired through my time as the President of the Macquarie University Soccer Club, papers and documents I retained from various jobs, newspaper clippings I found interesting at the time, magazines I kept for the puzzles and recipes. The list of useless things was endless, as I discovered when Cyclone Gee went through the apartment and tossed anything that wasn’t remotely current or relevant to my life as it is now.
I have always joked that my apartment was decorated in the latest “touch of Baghdad (or some other war torn region)” look, and I lived in it and I put up with it. I live on my own and I found my mess strangely comforting. I have only ever invited a very small number of friends into my apartment, and each have good naturedly commented on my décor whilst trying not to breathe in the dust. I’ve always laughed it off, but even my own eyes couldn’t deceive me when I walked through my front door on Saturday afternoon after lunching with Emily and Sarah, to be greeted by the filth and putrid state of my apartment. I had been living in squalor conditions, created by my own hands, for far too long, and even if Thomas had not been arriving next week, I needed to clean – badly.
So began the hard work of tossing everything. I surprised myself with the amount of stuff I threw out – by the 3rd paper recycling wheelie bin, I began to wonder how many more bins I could fill. Answer is above – and I was disgusted by the amount of crap I had hoarded over the years.
I could have taken some “before” and “after” shots to show you how it was then and how it is now, but I have to admit I was ashamed by the mess. At least I didn’t end up like the woman in Bondi.
With newly purchased furniture arriving tomorrow, I’ll finally be able to openly invite friends over for a drink or to hang out. And I’ll finally have a place that I can proudly call home.