My trash can hissed at me...

this morning. That just about fits with the general state of the house. Hissing. It's been more of my own hissing at the house though. I guess today was payback.

This summer I was seized, not as in paralyzed but as in the compulsion to, rid my life of some clutter. Personal, material, emotional, physical, et cetera. This time last year I was still a recovering back surgery patient and although my mom courageously tackled the closets, the drawers, the kitchen, and the cabinets in the Great Reorganization of 2009, I missed my annual give it away, throw it away or put it away event.

Everyone has to pay the piper at some point. This summer has been it.

To motivate myself, ourselves, Husband and I concocted a great fantasy that we were moving. Imminently. And to that end, we decided to look at everything with analytical and critical eyes as to whether or not we wanted to have to move fill-in-the-blank. This has worked wonders regarding prioritizing the general stuff junk that has piled up hither and yon in the crevices of our house.

For weeks I would not allow myself to open a drawer, cabinet or closet without ridding it of at least three items. After 78 trips to the dump, Husband began to wonder if I was also working on his stuff junk or just mine. MwwaaaHaaaHaaa!

He cannot pry it out of me. I've even thrown that answer away.

It's been vicious around here. I realize that I'm fighting against some generational pack rat genetics but I'm determined to finish the job. I know the result will be not only worth it but freeing to not be run ragged by the upkeep that stuff junk requires.

So the trash can this morning? Well, I had thrown in a hair spray can a few days ago that had gotten buried by the other trash. And when I crammed my foot down on it to make room for even more trash, it began to spray its last wisps. Thus, hissing at me.

That's okay, house, bring on your worst. I'm armed with hefty trash bags and if I don't want to think about having to pack you, then out you go.