Too much stuff, continued…

When I was a little girl, my bedroom was always a disaster area.  First it was my toys – they were always on my bed.  At night, I would pull the bedspread down to drag them down to the lower half of the bed to make room to crawl in.  Occasionally because of a bad dream or just to annoy my parents I would go climb into their bed in the middle of the night.  My father couldn’t sleep with me there and would go get in my bed.  I remember waiting for the inevitable “crash” as all the toys at the foot of the bed were pushed off as he got in and then some muttered swearing.  The toys were replaced by clothes eventually.  That drove my father to the brink every time he passed my room.  I eventually rearranged my room strategically so that the bed was parallel to the back wall.  From the door it was impossible to see over the far edge of the bed so that’s where I would toss everything if I wanted to make it looked like I had tidied up.  That made it easier for him to walk down the hall to and from my parents’ room without having an aneurysm. Somewhere in high school I just gave up trying to hide my messiness.  One night I came home after being out with my friends and my room was spotless.  At first I thought maybe my parents cleaned, but I soon realized all of my clothes that had been on the floor were missing.  I threw a fit and woke up my parents demanding to know where my clothes were.  It turns out my father gathered them all up in garbage bags and put them in the storage shed out back.  This was all his idea and my mom was not happy that she was awakened in the middle of the night because of it.  I got my clothes back and my father and I held a truce until I left for college.

Fast forward 20 years.  You’d think with that kind of childhood, my house would be a disaster area.  Nope.