I have this problem where I can’t throw stuff away. I remember where every little note or memoir came from, and I sit there and reminisce everytime I try to clean the house. I’m running out of room. I don’t know how one person fills an entire house and 6 closets with crap. This past week, I finally gritted my teeth and threw some stuff away. And then I go visit my parents for the weekend and my mom dumps 4 boxes of crap on me. They’re remodeling their entire house so my mom’s doing massive clearing, and figures I attach enough sentimental value to stuff that I’d want to retain every vocab index card I made in high school, every Chinese School exam paper, all my Chinese workbooks, every doodle of dream outfits I drew in elementary school, every hair doodad I ever had (and I grew up in the 80s, so you know about THOSE hair doodads — most of them plastic, many of them fuschia), every funky eraser and cute writing utensil that I collected since I was alive, makeshift ghetto sticker books, a Halloween mask cut-out book. Believe me, being a packrat is not a trait you just suddenly acquire in mid-life, so the 4 boxes are packed just from the first 10 years of my life. I even uncovered my Slam Book and had a good laugh over the entries written in there.

Now there are boxes and boxes in my car as well as in my house. What do I do?!

P.S. The reason I write about this is because I tried to clear some of the clutter by bringing them to work, and now I’m looking helplessly at my work L-desk covered with stuffed animals, a cat sitting with a fishing pole, 15 or so little gumball machine aliens, photos, and newly added from my Christmas Present Collection ’06, a scented flameless candle from Mr. W’s brother and a hamster running on a wheel powered by my typing speed via USB from Mr. W.
*giggle* The hamster is running his little legs off. The wheel is actually making a whirring sound as he races with my fingers.