Corona Diaries: My Bedroom Scares Me

I knew it was coming. It was inevitable. It was all just a matter of time before I was forced to finally face it.  

And suddenly, there she was. My childhood bedroom. “Aw how sweet” some of you may be thinking. Oh, how sorely wrong you are though. My “sweet” childhood bedroom was everything but sweet. It was a black hole, the dark door to the abyss. She was a mutated creature. After 20 years of teenage tomfoolery, 20 years of clothing, 20 years of books, 20 years of just about everything, she was a deep, deep, void.  

No longer was the coronavirus the scariest thing to me. Instead, now it was the looming fact that I, alone, would have to clean the dark hole.  

Let’s just say, I have had my fair share of hoarding skills. I personally would not say it’s a problem. Others might. I’d rather not leave it up for discussion.  

Regardless, hoarder or not, I did own a lot of things.  

But so be it. Here I am, today, during a global pandemic, confined to the two-bedroom house in a small town in Connecticut. There really isn’t much else for me to do.  

I began with the books. I thought it would be an easy and productive passing of time. I would do the regular separating technique many spring cleaners are used to, the keep pile, give away pile, and the maybe pile. But as it was soon revealed, I truly had no clue what I was getting myself into.  

7 bags of giveaway books, 3 broken straps, and a few loose books along the way, and finally the shelves were finished.  

Now I just have a whole car full of books with nowhere to bring them. Marie Kondo didn’t prepare me for decluttering during quarantine lockdown.