No matter who is to blame — if any-
one — Megan has now suffered through years of dealing with my piles, and though she isn’t pleased, to say the least, about this story, she was thrilled when I started to look into other forms of inter- vention, particularly since her threats of “clean this up before I get rid of all of it” have not changed me. They have, however, kept me from
tilting back into total disarray. Without my wife, the piles would grow until they took over the house. There would be at least four years’ worth of newspapers in the kitchen — on the counters, the floor, the table, under the sinks. We live an endless loop: She complains; we argue; I clean a little; piles grow back. Repeat. Frost, in “Buried in Treasures,” suggests calling the pros if you feel overwhelmed by the issue and your friends or family can’t help you get things in order. An- other reason to seek help: if anxiety or depression is getting in the way. A few ideas for de-cluttering have
surfaced over the years. A storage com- pany offered to send me a large container to move all my stuff into. The company’s pitch: “It can be your new man cave. We at Units Mobile Storage will bring a unit right to your driveway. … Set up a TV and thoroughly enjoy life surround-
there would be at n the kitchen.”
Michael Rosenwald takes your questions Monday at noon at
washingtonpost.com/magazine.
ed with all your stuff without your wife having to live and breathe it every day. It will cut down on the nagging and may indeed save your marriage!” Megan nixed the idea. “First of all,
it’s ridiculous,” she said. “Second of all, our homeowners association would throw us out.” Another idea came from Bernie
Kastner, an Israeli psychologist and hand- writing analyst who, upon hearing my story, offered to study my handwriting to find ways to help. I sent him a one-page handwriting sample. A few days later, he sent me a three-page analysis of my personality that was so accurate as to be frightening. The report: “When directly confronted and threatened with the pos- sible consequences of his actions, he may dig in his heels and become even more insistent on doing what he wants.” Me: Are you taking notes, Megan? Kastner and I chatted on the phone.
He suggested turning my messes into a game. Bet money that I won’t keep clean. If it’s a game and I stand to win some cash, that should clear up the problem. Brilliant, I thought. We hung up, and then I remembered that Megan had once tried something similar to get me to make the bed. She would grade me on my bed-making efforts. If I scored high enough each month, she would treat me to a steak dinner. There
is literally nothing I won’t do for steak — except, it turns out, make the bed. Then Mo showed up. Mo Osborn is
a nurse turned professional organizer. And not just any organizer but a member of the National Study Group on Chronic Disorganization, a group of 200 organiz- ers who help people like me. Mo is petite and bubbly and utterly charming. I led her on a tour of the house. First
stop, the dining room table. I admit- ted: “I’m not going to lie; this stuff that I have on the chairs over there, that was stuff on the table that I didn’t have room for anymore, so I just moved it to the chairs.” Mo’s advice: Get a small book- shelf to keep nearby. I get to have my stacks, but they would be out of the way. Up to the bedroom. Mo looked at the
leaning tower of books and magazines. I said if I roll over too violently while sleeping — I am the violent rollover type — Magazine Mountain crumbles. This has happened a few times, gen- erally between 3 and 5 a.m. Mo’s idea: Donate the duplicate books and the ones I won’t ever read to a prison book program or the State Department’s reading abroad program. The theo- ry: If I know they are going to a good purpose, that will help break my attach- ment. Also: Put a recycling bin next to the bed. If I sort right away, instead of waiting for the piles to grow, I will un- dercut my tendency to save. Mo was full of great ideas. I was ex-
cited. I told Mo that my wife would call her to say thanks, that she had given me
June 13, 2010 | The WashingTon PosT Magazine 17
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