Anyone who has been following any of my posts will know that, for the past couple of years, I have been assiduously divesting myself of a lot of extraneous ‘stuff’ I seem to have accumulated over the years. (Although, perhaps ‘assiduously’ is too strong a term—but I really like how that word just kind of rolls off the tongue . . . assssidduossssly . . . )
Anyway . . . I have also spent a bit of time patting myself on the back about how good I have been. I’ve rid myself of books and clothes and shoes and old bits of furniture, and, the most important part, I haven’t done what I thought I might do and replace it with all new stuff. (Well, okay, I admit, I have bought some new stuff but not nearly as much as I could have.) I figured I had this downsizing thing down pat.
And then last weekend I went looking for some blu-tack—one of those things that you need once every five years or so and you just know you have some in the house somewhere but be damned if you know where to find it—and, after unsuccessfully searching through all my ‘arty’ drawers (which, by the way, are now are hugely pared down with all materials organised into lovely plastic see-through boxes—not in any way, shape or form a sketching procrastination tactic . . . ) I finally had an AHA moment. I knew exactly where that pesky blu-tack would be. How could I not have thought of that first? The drawer in the kitchen.
Now, I know you know which drawer I am talking about. I’ll bet you have one too. The junk drawer. The drawer of detritus. The drawer where all your odds (sometimes very odd) and ends go to die . . .
OMG! I swear I open that drawer at least twice a day (obviously to toss things in rather than take things out) but I am not sure when the last time was that I actually looked at what was inside it. And worse still, now that I was looking, it seems that items within that drawer (presumably deciding they needed more room to move about) had surreptitiously started to infiltrate several surrounding drawers as well. Sigh.
Why? I mean—really—why?
Why is it I can manage to give away two hundred books and half the clothes in my wardrobe but I seem unable to stop myself from ‘saving’ such flotsam and jetsam . . .
four sets of broken scissors
(did I think I was going to get them mended? Never going to happen.)
(well—once upon a time they were fridge magnets.
The decorative fronts were still on them but they no longer had magnets attached.)
various pens and markers
(none of which seemed to be working)
(now completely un-sticky because of the all junk-draw fuzz stuck to it)
safety pins and thumbtacks
(every single one lying face up and every single one stabbed me before I saw it)
a hammer (WTF?)
dozens of loose toothpicks
(because where else are you going to keep them?)
various over the counter headache, cold-and-flu, and hayfever tablets
(I have never, ever suffered from hayfever)
3 bottle openers and 2 corkscrews (ahem)
doggie poo bags (thankfully all pristine and unused),
along with several now-too-small dog-collars (so cute),
half eaten dog chews (erk) and other doggie doodads.
Oh, also a little bottle of what was left of Mabel’s ear drops from the infection she had
—2 years ago
a number of rusty keys
(no idea what they do, or do not, open)
several tubes of superglue
(one which had divested itself off all its contents and will never be removed from the drawer,
or anything else it came into contact with, ever again)
a dozen or so buttons of varying shapes and sizes
(I couldn’t tell you the last time I sewed a button on anything,
but in spite of this I apparently can’t throw them away either . . . )
And those are only some of the more identifiable items. There were a couple of other things in there which (grimace) I am still not sure about. Nor have I even looked through the other two drawers yet—that may be a chore for this weekend. (Oh joy.)
It’s a shame Edison is not still around really. He would have had a field day . . .