Each of these stories holds a secret.
I am not a doctor, but sometimes I pretend that I am.
I have officially diagnosed her and the rest of the family that I am so fortunate to work with, with obsessive-compulsive disorder.
My issues manifest themselves in funny and quirky ways. Some might even classify them as "part of my charm."
However, the rest of my family has not received such an easy hand.
This hand has turned a three story office building into the worst episode of A&E's Hoarders imaginable. I am the only one brave enough to say anything about it, or take actions to make change.
February 27, 2010
I enter the office where our business is run with ambitions of cleaning. Things beyond my serene desk are out of order, dusty, in complete disarray. I walk in and set my sights on the supply area.
The supply area is a little 10 x 10 area that houses our fax machine and general office supplies. It has been a mess for as long as I can remember. One tall cabinet. One desk with 6 drawers. Easy right?
Within this confined space I found more useless things that I could have ever imagined.
At least 20 yellow and white pages from the last 10 years
A fanny pack (really?)
Personal phone books of every past employee holding the SAME numbers
Drawers to a desk that no longer exist
Very detailed directions on how to operate a pencil sharpener (a very OLD pencil sharpener)
A letter from 1970
Drawers full of sticky things that have lost their stick in the form of post-its, labels, those little colored dots that I don't really see a purpose to (really, what are they used for?!) glue sticks, tabs...on and on stickless sticky things.....
And on top of all the things I mentions and the many many other things that I am trying to forget is about 15 lbs. of DUST
I did it.
I cleaned the whole thing.
Standing on chairs to reach the highest heights.
On my hands and knees to clean the lowest lows.
And I did it.
With a fight, I might add.
My Grandmother was there watching me. With justification for keeping every single item I threw away.
"Someone could use those phone books as a night stand" "You could white out the names in this phone book and use it" "We can cut up this 5 foot high pile of used paper and use it as scratch paper"
It caused her great stress to see all of these items go. Items that she didn't even remember existed before I had dug them out of the dark caves they were buried under.
I really don't know any other way to help her. But this is what I am doing.
I will post pictures of my prized little island of bliss (the supply area) once I figure out my dads too technologically advanced for my to figure out camera. But it is lovely.
The printer room.
DUN DUN DUUUUN!!!!!