Begin humming the theme to the old Ghost Busters movie as you read this post. 

If you aren’t old enough to remember it…well…sometimes it sucks to be young.  (But not often enough)

For most of the year clutter and I are best friends.   We comfortably cohabit.  A few books can share a couch with me.  A pile of papers can reside for a while on my kitchen counter next to where I cook.  A couple of pair of shoes can rest next to the dresser before being banished to the closet.

Even the vacuum cleaner is allowed to rest for a day or two in a sun filled room.  In fact, taking the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and parking it in the center of the room says to any unexpected guests who might drop by, “I know this room needs to be vacuumed.  I was just about to do so, when you stopped by.”  That’s what I tell myself anyway.

But a week or so ago I wrote my piece about 2012 becoming my breakthrough year.  Remember?  Lofty new lifestyles are being addressed.  I plan to eat reasonably forever while conquering my fears of technology simultaneously.  An exercise plan has been instituted.  For good.  These issues will no longer rule my life.  Period.  Keep a straight face here.

The problem is this gal can’t just eat reasonably without replacing that annoying habit with something.  It turns out giving up comfort food has to be replaced by activity.  My hands have to be doing something other than moving snacks to my lips every waking second.  One can only use the keyboard for a certain number of hours per day.  My eyes glanced around my house frantically for a substitute plan.  Bingo.

I have become a purging princess.  I’m digging through closets, sorting, and pitching.   Decades of clothes in a variety of sizes, ALL are being held up one at a time subjected to the same revealing  question.  Listen carefully to this question, because it is an important one. 

“If I ever get to be this size again, is this what I would want to wear?”

Do not think about how much the item cost.  (Sometimes I remember that).  Do not chastise yourself with how few times you have worn it.  That answer is cruel and unusual punishment so don’t go there.  Only one question really matters.  See above.  That, my friends, is a breakthrough question.

I have taken so many trips to drop off rejected items, people close to me are sure I’m having an affair with the Good Will man.  I haven’t stopped with clothes.  Yesterday I spent hours in the basement, going through all the tubs of Christmas decorations, digging all the way to the bottom to the items I haven’t used in years.  Gone!  I have a box of books to take to Half Price books.  And the trash man will have to work a good bit harder when he stops at my house this week.

But a girl’s gotta do, what a girl’s gotta do.  The food void must be replaced with something. I have become a clutter buster. More ghost buster music here, fading out.  da-da-da-da-dum.