On my desk where I write sits three combs; a tiny nail clipper; an orange bead from a broken kiddie necklace; two pink pipe cleaners; a broken calculator; my camera; Purell; wipes; bank statement from a year ago; an unsent thank-you note to Auntie Boo from Christmas – whoopsie!; a random unfunctioning TV remote; a January Us Weekly stolen from the dentist; a Rolodex from the ‘90s; mouse stickers; a 2004 birthday card; T-Ball raffle tickets expired in March; Target sunglasses; Miss Kitty sunglasses; sunglasses with one lens missing; spinning “organizer” crammed with 30,000 pens; pencils; air tire gauge; more hair combs; mangled Post-Its; broken iPod earphones; rusty Leatherman; red puzzle piece; very tired hair elastic; Aleve cold & sinus packet of eight with one missing. . . need I go on?

And this is just my desk. A 4” x 3 ½” foot space.

Now take this list of crap, times the size of everything by twenty, add wheels or dust or broken musical bits to most of them and – voila! – that’s my basement. Crammed. Full. Stuffed with crap.

So here my house is, overwhelmed by crap and I’m feeling boxed in, swarmed, like I have thousands of mini, black ants crawling all over my body and I can’t – get – them – off!!!!

And then I stop.

And remember.

As a child of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, my indoctrinated guilt kicks in. I remember the sad tales our parents would tell of the kids in Ethiopia who didn’t have enough food on their plates followed by the frightening pictures of tiny, stick bodies with bloated bellies, giant brown eyes staring up at you in desperation.

“Mommy, why are their bellies so big?” we would ask. “Because they’re filled with air, honey,” would come the reply.

Air?????

This was usually followed by an, “And how lucky you are to have this broc-turk-cheese-brussel sprout stew on your plate! Eat every – single – drop!” And boy we were lucky to have that broc-turk-cheese-brussel sprout stew on our plate!

And that’s the ambivalence I have about the crap in my house. I am completely, totally, and absolutely very, very lucky to have every single yellow plastic paperclip that continually gets stepped on in the laundry room by the basement door, but I am, at the same time, completely overwhelmed and disgusted by it all. I am full already, Mom!!!

Our consumerism disgusts me. And we just can’t stop it. And it’s getting worse as the kids get older. I am full. My house is full.

I am overwhelmed by crap and I just can’t stop eating.

By Annie B. Yearout

Labels: Annie B. Yearout, appreciation, cleaning, colorful foods, consumerism, crap, Ethiopia, laundry room, mess

Stumble This Post