I started thinking about this yesterday. A friend drove me to an appointment with my neurologist, and I chided her a bit about the large pile of books, magazines and other paperwork in the back seat of her Prius. She is not a pack rat–just very, very busy. She’s always running from one meeting to another, from one friend or another in need of her help, and rarely finds the time to organize everything.
I come from a long line of pack rats. Mom was a pack rat. Dad used to threaten to replace all of our tables with large standing funnels so she couldn’t pile stuff on them. She’d go to yard sales and bring home a lot of crap she’d never actually use. The next time she left the house, he’d carry it all out to the dumpster, and the cycle would begin again.
My maternal grandparents were also pack rats. I won’t go into detail here. Let’s just say Indiana Jones wouldn’t have gone looking for anything in their house.
Collin is a fourth-generation pack rat. He never gets rid of anything, no matter how much I beg. I refer to his bedroom as The Landfill. Our dog, a rather large German shepherd, wouldn’t go in there. Our pig, however, didn’t mind it at all. Enough said.
He’s trying. He did buy the shredder….
As for me…I’ve always had a tendency to let mail pile up. I’d fill shopping bags with mail, magazines, and assorted crap that I knew should really be given away or thrown away. I’d have five or six bags full before I finally forced myself to sort them. One month, none of our bills got paid because I lost them. Our birth certificates were also lost. (I suspect they ended up in the recycling, but it’s never been proven.)
Now, documents will occasionally pile up, waiting for me to scan them into the computer. There will be stuff piled up in the storeroom when I’m weeding out, finding things to donate to the annual church sale. Old clothes might pile up until I get around to cutting them up for cleaning cloths. But I’m making progress…really, I am!
I wonder when A&E will decide to do a series on pack rats?