The Troubles of Monies

The Holidays approach, the excitement begins.  Beautiful materials convert us into "Gotta Have It" Ogre's! We put on our walking sneakers and most comfortable pair of jeans or sweats only to power-walk through the monstrosities holding  each necessity and desire, all while making them readily available to us ON SALE! If we aren't racing "before quantities run out", we are preparing a cup of coffee, hot chocolate, or maybe hot apple cider (it's currently very cold outside) in our pj's or extra comfy sweats just to browse the web and catch even more deals.  Hey, maybe we prepare our beverages and with our "Snuggie"placed correctly, plant ourselves in front of the television set to watch one of those shopping channels.

It isn't until after the credit card (deliciously evil piece of plastic) bill arrives that our eyes widen, throat gulps, heart sinks, and tears overflow at the sight of our horrendous mistake due to the inability to just say NO! To OURSELVES!  We ARE allowed to put ourselves in our place, but why is there the desire not to?  The outcome is extremely predictable and cannot honestly believe we have anyone else to blame but ourselves for being so irresponsible with our finances.

Career-less are we today! Jobless are we right now! Capital on our minds, but not in our hands, pockets, and especially not our bank accounts. So why put ourselves through the Troubles of Monies?

Am I a Hoarder?

I live in a huge mess.  Organized mess, but still massive.  I very much want to throw everything out and begin anew but I create sentimental value.  I have precise, clean, and orderly images in my mind of how I want this place to look; yet I fail to execute my task.  I begin by throwing everything on the 25 year old carpet, the full size bed that's been vacant for over a year, and on the dresser that needs some TLC.  "YES!" I exclaim as if accomplishing a major task: an empty closet.  Anger, then tears form and suddenly I'm sobbing as I see the mess I've made.  Flashbacks to my image of my perfect place as I sort through the mess and separate the bad, the possible donations, and definite keeps.  Reality kicks me in my shin and again I sob because the more I try to make sense of my mess, the more repulsive sight I create.  Am I a Hoarder?