I can't sleep. But really, how can anyone sleep when there are things to be organized.
Alphabetically, reverse alphabetically, by color, by size, by shape, by purpose, by frequency of use, by season, by how you acquired said important things, by genre, by feeling said objects evoke, chronologically, reverse chronologically, stacked biggest to smallest, tallest to shortest, fattest to skinniest, by ability to grab treasure should there be a fire, by what the kitties should and should not destroy... GAH!
And then there is the pile of stuff I have to lug around with me for eternity because my Mom got it for me and getting rid of it, even to a loving home, somehow reflects my lack of love for her, makes me ungracious, and would ultimately lead to my failure as a daughter.
Tonight I am thankful to be a poor artist in NYC with a small apartment. Any bigger, and somebody is gonna have to call A&E, cause I am hoarding this whoreson out!