I didn't do much work on kicking Depression's Ass today. I worked very hard with my brother on cleaning up after a flooded basement at my mom's house.
Made me realize that I really need to clean up my own basement. I too have a lot of cardboard boxes full of stuff on the floor. If we got water in the basement it would become a HUGE job to clean up. An even huger job, I should say.
I think I need help with it, but it is unlikely that I will recruit anyone to help. Because I am not ready for anyone to see how bad I let the basement get. Mostly clothes that are waiting for people to fit into them; toys waiting for people to play with them and craft supplies waiting to become something new. But a lot of these things are mixed together in boxes and bags. Combined with completely useless things that we should get rid of.
Naturally since things are so poorly stored, they take up all the useful storage space that could hold things we would like to put away from upstairs. Which means our small living space is not cleanable. It is not that the space is too small. I am committed to the small space. We just have too much stuff and haven't stored items well.
I once saw an episode of CSI in which some woman had died and they looked around her cluttered home and said, "Clearly she was not mentally well for some time." I looked at my house and thought: crap. I'd better not die today.
The best comeback I heard for this was from a mom of twins who said, "What the CSI investigators didn't realize is it probably only took 30 minutes!" This made me feel slightly better.
I must not look at it as "the basement project," as if it is something that I can reasonably tackle in a weekend. I must break it into doable chunks. I must start at one corner and work my way across. That way I will have some storage space and a sense of accomplishment too.
Quaker, teacher, parent,