Welcome to my home.

Ever watch that show Hoarders? I caught my first episode during summer reruns and thought it was fascinating television. By the time the new season premiere rolled around, I was hooked. Since then I have come to a conclusion and it ain’t pretty: I’m a compulsive hoarder in the making. Or perhaps I am one as we so-to-speak (there’s nothing like a good case of denial to get the ball rolling like a wad of tin foil added to and added to over the years ‘til it’s good for nothing but a potential hole in the floor—just in case one might need to peel off an ancient piece and use it to store your ABC gum for future use).

For years I have hoarded books (if I read it and even mildly enjoyed it, I saved it for my now-real-but-once-fictional daughter—sadly, she’s only interested in books about vampires), dolls (for same daughter who couldn’t care less), pretty dishes (ditto or is that trio?) and Christmas decorations (an example of such is the photo of the cute house I bought after Christmas last year and need far, far less than a hole in the head provided said hole is to facilitate the much needed lobotomy) (plus, daughter hates clutter AND Christmas) (sorta--she just hates the music and the cluttery decor) (the present part she likes just fine) (too bad she’s not getting much of that this year) (do you get the feeling my daughter and I are like two ships passing in the night?) (sigh).

As one can imagine, this has kind of killed the appeal of the show for me. Now I watch it (cause I hafta) with a pit in my stomach and a mingled expression of horrified fascination and self-pity. I gaze around my little home and suddenly that pile of home school materials that dwells on the living room floor (it has no home of its own) takes on a sinister appearance. The small mountain of bagged items that were once eBay fodder but have little chance of selling this season/this year/‘til the cows come home due to the economy that I can’t bring myself to get rid of because they might have sold for big money once upon a time looks like a pile of pure denial. The papers and other minutia, worn out and homeless, that litter the kitchen counter resemble nothing more than a pile of trash. (It is a pile of trash but let’s not split hairs.) Even the dog, splayed on the floor like a tacky, white(ish—she needs a bath) fur rug, seems like something that really oughta go.

The important distinction here is that people become hoarders due to/via their anxiety, something which I seem to have more and more of each and every day. Now, THAT I can get rid of (or not. Whaddya think? Any takers? I hate to think of it going unwanted and wasted. It really should have a good home. Ah, nuts, maybe I’ll just hang onto it . . . just in case. You never know when you might need it.)

A. Because of my unpredictable life, I have a fear of commitment.

B. I tend to get addicted to things. (Maybe “obsessed” is a better word though I do try to only obsess over things that are really positive. That’s not working out for me since I can’t seem to choose my obsessions.) (Not that blogging is bad! Au contraire! But it IS time consuming.)

C. A+B=high anxiety. (Since there’s nothing that commits you like an addiction, blogging--to which I am highly addicted--is causing me severe anxiety.)

D. I don't like panic attacks. (I have to say, this is really bugging me. Ask my husband. He knows. Because I talk to him about it, ad nauseum. Usually I don't mention it until the drool is about to hit the pillow so he is less than empathetic when I say things like: "I don't know what is happening in their lives!" or "I'm afraid they're going to think I don't care!" or "What if they stop being my friend?" or, when I'm feeling super self-absorbed (which, let's face it, is most of the time) "What if they never visit MY blog again?" which would be totally natural and understandable and has, by the way, happened. A lot.

E. It is amazing how much you can get done when you don't blog. (I have crossed off every single thing on my to-do list every single day this week. It feels good!) (Also, I have cooked almost every night since school started at the end of August. That doesn't feel so good but my skinny-stick-children are slowly putting on some much needed flesh.) (Oddly, enough, the Big Guy weighs roughly the same. A lot.)

F. I have been spending some of my usual blogging time helping out with the wonderful site, Mormon Women: Who We Are, and loving it! A lot.

G. Christmas is coming. (I have no idea how I blogged to the extent I did last December and still managed to put up a tree and shop for presents.) (Oh, yeah . . .I didn't cook. Or clean. Or bathe.)

Things that have nothing to do with why I'm not blogging: your wonderful comments. More than a few people have been rather surprised when they learned how low my actual hit count is because I get so many comments. That's because I have managed to surround myself with truly warm and wonderful people out here in Blogdania. I cherish all of your comments but those you have left on the last two posts of mine have been extra special. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart!

Lastly, because I'm such a glutton for punishment, I listed a large print copy of Miss D on eBay. The price is very good (especially for the outrageously-priced large print edition) and might give you something to amuse yourself with over the next week or so as you watch it sit and sit and sit and SIT with absolutley no bids whatsoever. (And a good time was had by all.)

Meanwhile, Hopefully I will be able to blog regularly again in January (though I hesitate to suggest which year--that fear of commitment thing, an' all . . . )