Possessions and how they claim me

I’m a strange one. Those of you who know me personally are shaking their heads “yes”, those of you who don’t please consider this a warning. For those of you who have your belongings neatly classified, categorized and who do not have things that don’t BELONG with your décor, strewn about, please look away.
For those of you that know of what I speak, carry on.

My grown “kids” have told me that I have clutter. OMG, no, really? I have their keepsake toys that they wanted me to save, neatly stored away in the attic in large plastic bins, awaiting their joyous re-discovery. But that is not the clutter. I’m talking about my stuff. My junk, my "I can’t get rid of THAT, well, for a lack of a better word, crap." It’s crap that I am personally attached to.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, my home is tastefully decorated, and most crap is hidden from plain view. It’s just I KNOW that it’s there, hanging around my neck, dragging me down. And I am attached to it. Much like I am attached to my ’98 Oldsmobile that is paid for, has 153,876 miles on it and hardly a rust spot on it. It has a working radio, OH COME ON, and yep, a cassette deck. Jealous yet? I’m attached to it. Every knock, every light bulb replacement, wind shield wiper exchange, has me driving through car lots deciding on whether or not I’ll buy a new one and will it be red? Or slick black? Mostly, I like spending the money I was reserving for the new car – instead of having a car payment. So, I stay attached.

I think I’m one of those kinds that places emotional value on my stuff. Weird. I have adopted a motto to aid me in the task of letting go. It is: EVERY DAY THROW AWAY. I have to toss something from my stock of crap, every day. This is relatively easy. But there are some things that instead of tossing, I just move to a different location. Sometimes they make it out to the garage, near to the garbage can and they linger there until the Mr. tosses them. It doesn’t count in my log of letting go, I still have to toss out something. I have a lot of empty plastic food storage containers in my pantry, so I toss one when I’m feeling lackluster.
Clothes, shoes, knick knacks, candles, costume jewelry, more clothes, nope - I have a real problem letting go. Despicable!
I made a pact with one of my dear, dear friends, who I owe a kidney to and she won’t claim, that if something should happen to me, she needs to beat everyone back to my house, and even before my husband has a need to, clean out my underwear drawer. Don’t look, just toss. I’ll go to the great beyond commando.