Clutter: The Root of all Evil

I shudder to think of the amount of money I have spent on stuff throughout the years. I bet it would be in the six-figures. All on stuff, crap that I likely would not even remember, much less treasure. My credit card debt doesn't consist of fun things, like trips or parties or a wicked cocaine habit, but rather things like that new Olay moisturizer that I had to have because it was new and I must try anything and everything new, or high thread count sheets, because I deserve them. Or pajamas. I buy all of these in wild fits of compulsion.

Right now I am sitting in my house, contemplating what to do. The answer should be simple: I need to get off my ass and do some cleaning. There are toys scattered everywhere. Clothes, too. And books. Items that, if calculated over my lifetime, would total in six figures.

And yet, I blame this stuff on my inability to get up and actually do something. It seems too overwhelming, too much. Unable to be cleared in one day. I'd feel as big of a failure after all that work as I do now, doing nothing but leisure activities. So why even try?

I see that the local community ed program is offering a one-night seminar on home organization, for $30. It promises tips and resources for organizing, but I'd rather spend that $30 on Olay moisturizer. It'll be more fun, and the bottle will last a lot longer than any organizational tips I could learn.

In other news, the community ed program is also offering an intro to aviation course, the first step in acquiring a private pilot license. I am so going. For reals. I realize that all totaled, getting a private pilot license would probably cost me as much as grad school, once you add in-flight lessons. Besides, I don't want to entirely learn to fly. I have no desire to fly at night, ever, under any circumstances. And it is my understanding that you don't get to pick and choose what you want to learn, based on personal preference. Alas, I can't see anything bad coming out of this. First, I have a pilot fetish. But it's wrong to sign up for classes with an ulterior motive of scoring men. So, I will pretend I am taking the Angelina Jolie route. I'd be totally bad-ass if I could fly planes, no man required, just like she does.