Help! I'm In My Garage and I Can't Get Out!

Ever moved into a new house? We did a few months ago...our first house with a garage. Yes, it is being used as the SPOT OF DENIAL as we load it up with everything that doesn't yet have a "home" and we've chosen to forget about it, albeit briefly.

So, today, as we participated in our first neighborhood garage sale, I was once again struck by how much JUNK we have! And, as my friend Holly pulled up in front of our driveway and handed me a beautifully made, colorful "Simply Organized by Holly" business card, looking like it was straight out of the pages of Real Simple Magazine, and told me I could be her pet project (you have no idea what your getting yourself into Holly, you'll be sorry :-) I once again felt the urge to close the garage door and sink back into my house and live in my OWN spot of denial, pretending I really am Martha Stewart (pre-Camp Cupcake) and make tea and crumpets in my non-cluttered kitchen.

I am absolutely convinced that 'stuff' procreates one tiny piece at a time, in the wee dark hours of the morning, so as not to be too obvious to its owner. I'm not kidding. I should set my alarm clock some night and creep out into the garage, you know, dressed in black so as not to be noticed. With my night vision goggles on, I fear I would immediately have to cover my eyes in embarrassment when I find I’ve intruded on the lawn mower and the weed wacker getting to know each other a little better, while the sultry sounds of Barry White play in the background.

I digress. One day, when that owner actually decides to take account of the contents of their garage, they are amazed to find that their stuff has birthed great-grandchildren in the short span of a few years and the "Too Much Crap" Family Reunion has decided to hold its annual gathering in your garage. Having edged out the actual space for automobiles early on when they forgot to send them an invitation.

Fact is...we should probably hire Holly but then I'd have to listen to my husband go on about the clutter again and then I’d feel pressured to spend every waking moment organizing gas cans and old furniture so someone else doesn’t have to keep themselves above water in our ocean of mess.

So, for now, the garage door will remain closed to the outside world and I'll work little by little to break up any future family gatherings. It's the middle of the afternoon so I feel pretty confident that I can go open the door to the garage and not turn 8 shades of red while I wade myself through the bookshelves and futon covers. I've set myself a curfew of 8p though just in case....