Public Domain Life (shannyk) wrote,
Public Domain Life
shannyk

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It's not that I'm just a slob...

Everything's pretty damn neat and tidy at work, and I'm always bitching about everyone else who leaves the place a complete pigsty. Just after 8 hours of cleaning up after them, I don't always feel like coming home and relaxing by doing *more* of it.

Then there's the fact that I have the packrat gene common to both my mother and grandmother. And when the person complaining about your place has a pretty serious clutter problem going on themselves, while lacking the organizational skills necessary to know exactly where to find something in a junk pile because they're not even well sorted chronologically, hard to convince the kettle it needs a new paint job.

"How about you do your part by just not bringing anything in the house that you're planning to give to me, unless I've specifically asked for it, or at least OK'd it over the phone?" - nice try. I accumulate enough stuff I don't have room for on my own, without anybody helping. Yes, the thought's nice, but the reality of it? Often a little problematic.

But worst of all are the insane rules involved in actually getting *rid* of anything.

1. If it was given to you by someone else, you can't get rid of it. See above mentioned white elephants.

2. If it belonged to anyone else and you've ended up with it as a memento, you can't get rid of it either.
Exceptions for both of the above are if the item and/or person means something to *you*, but not to the person demanding you clean up, and you'd actually like to keep it. That stuff, it's just fine to throw it out!

3. If a piece of clothing fits, or could possibly fit if you gained or lost a remotely plausible amount of weight, regardless of style or color(since trends change, of course, it might come back...), you can't get rid of it. Only if the clothing is ruined beyond wearability are you free to toss it. And that's only if you can prove you already have enough sets of garbage clothes for painting and such. Even all the souvenir t-shirts with writing on them that you get bitched at (by the person that bought them for you, who complains you have too many clothes) for wearing anywhere other than the gym ("But...it's a beach resort!"), you still need to store somewhere. For shoes, if they don't fit when you're given them, you'll be told they're not returnable. When you later try and get rid of them, out will come the "Well why didn't you say they didn't fit when you got them, so I could return them?", with a complete denial of their final sale status.

4. If there is anything that you bought for yourself and no longer want or need, the cry of "Well, why did you buy the damn thing in the first place if you're just going to get rid of it???" will go up. Usually followed by a "Don't buy it ever again!" if it's a consumable. The concept of, say, buying a skin product and finding you can't use it because it makes you break out, or not knowing before you buy some sort of new food item exactly what it tastes like, is apparently too much for my mother. Perhaps she snacks on stuff before she buys it and then just leaves the half eaten pack on the shelf when I'm not with her.

This leaves the only safe things to dispose of being items you bought for yourself, or someone important gave you, that you actually like/want/need, because she fails to understand the significance of anything that's not utterly useless. Failing to follow these rules will result in the bags of stuff headed for Goodwill being intercepted between you (third floor) and the exit. Stuff will be removed from the bags and forcibly returned, some of it immediately, some by "Oh, I'll take this!" or "I'll see if so-and-so wants this". Most of that will remain unwanted and slowly be snuck back into your possession. Clothing will find its way into your laundry hamper, other items try and take the stairs on their own. Seriously, if you've ever seen my stairs, you've seen *stuff* trying to creep up them.

And yes, this salvage process includes expired food. But if someone claims it, and leaves it untouched in the fridge for a clearly unsafe period past the expiry date, *that*, at least, is gone when nobody's looking.
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