Clutter

It was, I think, 2002 or 2003 when we moved into the new house. It was certainly a nice house, bounded by a small jungle on one side and a river/canal on another. My main interest, however, was the bathtub in the master bedroom. Perhaps now I could attempt that water-wasting yet oh-so-decadent method of self-cleansing, as immortalised in both media and literature!

Not so. My mother was too crafty for me. "Finish clearing your room," she suggested, "and I'll let you use the bath."

I didn't earn the right that year, or the year after. Each year, in fact, the task grew steadily harder as I amassed more material., making it more and more difficult to put everything into a coherent order. Finally, in self-defence, I decided I wasn't interested in the bath and allowed the clutter in my room to do as it would.

Then, at some point, I became an adult.

Today, I have finished clearing my room. I have gone through every item in my possession, and thrown away some four or five large bags worth of material which I no longer value. The room is now organised, and if I chose I could locate most of my possessions if necessary. The task is complete.

The room feels emptier, somehow.