The McCollumn - 4/1: 'Trash goes in the trash can'

Last weekend, I spent the better part of two days in an uncomfortable state.
I’ve always been a creature of habit, someone who enjoys a good routine and abhors changes in my well-planned little world.
My house had become indicative of this particular quirk of mine.
Stacks of papers littered any and every available flat surface, collecting dust as they waited to be read.
Dozens of DVDs lay strewn about the living room, staying in their position so long that they had began making indentations in the mottled brown carpet that’s been a feature of my house since the Bicentennial.
Dust and debris were everywhere.
There may have been a sock in the crisper of the fridge, and, no, I have no idea how it ended up there.
Longtime friend and virtual family member Bobby Beauchamp helped me in the quest against clutter, all out of the goodness of his heart and his genuine desire to see what sort of random stuff could be found at McCollum Cottage.
In fact, I have it on good authority that when asked about his weekend by others, he’s replied that he was doing “community service.” He’s not far off, sadly.
Throughout the cleaning process, Bob kept making references to “Hoarders,” the A&E series about people with compulsive hoarding disorders.
There were no pet carcasses or rooms filled with giant mounds of trash, but it was messy enough for me to be embarrassed to have friends over.
Why not just clean it up, Cliff? Why let yourself get bogged down in the mire like that?
I honestly can’t answer those questions.
It goes beyond simple laziness. I had the time to clean and tidy up, but no real desire to do so.
I honestly think I was feeling so depressed about other aspects of my life that the house just started to personify those issues.
I was slightly off kilter, so the house engaged in a little cosmic sympathy.
Thank God for friends who pull us out of our tailspins.
We vacuumed, dusted, arranged and rearranged for hours.
My need to keep numerous amounts of random knick-knacks was called into question several times.
My argument that “Some of this junk has been in this house since before me, so what right do I have to get rid of it” was summarily dismissed as nonsense, especially when I couldn’t identify what the items in question were actually used for.
But, by jove, we finished the job, and sat and enjoyed a nice drink and an episode of “30 Rock” when we finished.
The place looked hardly recognizable.
I dare say it looked better than when I moved in several years ago.
I’ve maintained that going through this process has forced me to examine my behaviors and turn over a new leaf.
Dishes will be washed directly after use.
Floors will be swept and vacuumed weekly.
My new mantra has become, “Trash goes in the trash can.” It seems to be making it thus far.
And, as for socks, they may occasionally still show up in the crisper.
Socks are mysterious in that way.
It’s just true.