One Monday night, my husband came home, sat me down, and told me a long list of infidelities. He had not done anything illegal, but he had certainly broken our wedding vows. He cheated on me with strangers. With men. With female friends of mine. It had been going on for his whole adult life, much of which had been spent dating or married to me.
The truth is, I hate clutter. I miss my old, clean, tiny apartment. But I love my family more, and despite my hounding them relentlessly to put. away. their. shit, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. I would, however, love them to say Happy Mothers Day next month by putting their dirty socks in the laundry rather than leaving them on my living room rug.
FROM THE CONFESSIONAL
Confession #25785006 I’ve been donating a lot of clutter. I wouldn’t say it has sparked joy, but I do feel better.
#25825782 "That awkward moment when you de-clutter your house and try to donate the stuff you’re getting rid of to Goodwill or other charity thrift stores – only to find out even THEY don’t want your shit."
#25792404 "Fantasizing about leaving H and the cute, clean, uncluttered house I would like to live in. Not sure if this is good for giving me hope or bad because it's giving false hope."
