Image: scottchan /    

Yesterday I began the campaign to reclaim my house. You see, between, working taking care of the family working part-time and writing, something’s got to give and unfortunately that something was my house. Don’t get me wrong the basic maintenance was done.

The laundry monster needs to be beat back with the Tide stick. The kids clothes need to be weeded out and replenished. My books, need to receive the same treatment. I have way too many, trust me I would keep them all if I could. When I can’t get the king-sized bed I want because of the utter lack of space in my bedroom and they’re piled on the floor next to my desktop, it’s time to let some go.

My kids are just as bad with there books. The little one has so many that her bookshelf no longer has shelves. Time for mommy to go to IKEA, again.

What got me thinking was cleaning out my husband’s side of the closet today. I’m so much better at cleaning out his side than mine. He’s lost forty pounds over the last few years, so I was removing all of the clothes that no longer fit, in addition to the things that I’ve never seen him wear in years.

In writing or life, every so often you have to get rid of the baggage , the superfluous. It’s hard and most of us tend to look the other way rather than deal with it. Would that we could have someone come along and clean up our baggage for us.

I’d love for someone to come along and look at my first draft and magically fix it for me. But, I can’t and in the end it wouldn’t be mine. and I wouldn’t learn the things I need to know from it. So I guess in more ways than one I’m stuck cleaning up my own mess.