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It’s supposed to be therapeutic to come clean with your addictions … right?

I’m just going to put it out there first thing, right now, I’m just going to blurt it out. I’m addicted to shelves and storage space. If I see a clear wall without shelves or hooks or some sort of space where I can put stuff, I see opportunity lost. I suppose this conflicts with the Minimalist Lifestyle chapter I should probably write (or maybe already did), but here’s the crux of it:

I just don’t like stuff on the floor.

I know, I said it. It’s blasphemy. I also don’t like things on counters. I would rather bolt my toaster oven into the cabinet above than leave it on the counter. As usual with me, it’s about priorities: what gets the prime real estate? The most attention? Counter space. Floor space. When the counter and floor is empty or at least not cluttered, it’s organized, it’s How it Should Be. Things don’t need to be put away, they are already put away.

We went on something of a rampage today. Two eight-foot-by-two-foot plywood beasts above the garage door. I can fit at least 16 Sterilite boxes up there. There are at least that many on the floor. What about those snow sleds? What are those empty boxes? I don’t know, I don’t care, now is not the time to look in them, now is the time to put them above the garage on the new shelves. They are works of art. Van Gogh might not agree, but I am in awe. Together with my pal the electrician, it only cost us plywood, four two-by-fours, an hour of which-bolt-fits-with-this-nut, maybe seven lagers, and we’re set.

It’s one of those Sense of Accomplishment things. They’re important, aren’t they? You do something, you see what you’ve done, you celebrate your victories. Speaking of which, I need to go crack open lager number eight and admire the sweat, blood and splinters (no, really) of the afternoon.

I’m going to hit Publish before I … don’t. Happy Sunday. 😉

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