The Clutter Gene
I have a missing DNA code. Somewhere in the twisted genius that is only pertinent to me, I'm missing the Clutter gene. This genetically selective gene not only runs in a family's physical line, but also, if a person cohabitates with someone that carries the gene, can easily be inducted into the other persons permanent coding. This can occur by either air transmission, or by surrender due to exhaustion of the non-clutter gene, having been assaulted and defeated by the stronger and less concerned clutter gene of the other person.
This coding enhances, multiplies, and replicates the vibration of chaos, which is a vibration within us, dormant only by sheer will. From the simple "pile in the corner" to the "we've finally discovered the path to the bathroom, so this is where the cat has been", clutter is as clutter does. Like vibrations attract like vibrations, therefore the more chaos one lives in within their personal space, the more chaos is attracted into their whole lives.
My mother's anti-clutter gene mutated when she re-wed. My children's clutter gene tries to express itself in radically creative ways, which I suppress by Gestapo Mother Tactics, hone from several years apart from anyone who carried the code. I'm hoping their gene dies a quiet, unnoticed death from starvation. But, I'm willing to let it live in dormant form until they move out, and then it is no longer my concern.
My darling husband let his run amok while a bachelor, which only feeds the gene, allowing it to grow to "Godzilla" like proportions. Which is why when I "mess with his stuff" it is, according to him, terms for estrangement. In an effort to keep the peace, and my sanity, we compromise. When I say we, I really mean me, as I give him a one week grace period before my Generals go hunting for ape flesh.
Most assuredly, my deceased Aunt Arlene had this gene. So imbedded into her subconscious was it's nefarious ways, it literally took seven trips with two vans, two sedan loads, a pickup truck, and an eight foot dumpster to clear her 400' apartment. Not to mention the storage unit, containing even more stuff she had probably forgotten about, but went on autopilot when paying the bill each month.
Being the otherworldly traveler that I am, I just had to call her up from the astral realm during the cleaning process to question this collection of goods that five families could have survived from quite comfortably. For years. Not surprisingly, her answer was from a differing plane from the exhausted mind numbed place I was momentarily living.
"Well, it certainly brought the family back together now, hasn't it?"
Yes, I admit that it did. Like most families nowadays, ours is spread thin by distance. This was a unique bonding experience, that we were all, eventually, grateful to have. Love won out over chaos, but clutter did have its day.
The only cure for clutter/chaos is choice. Resuscitating the anti-clutter gene will allow space to return in life. Within this openness is the availability to see clearly all that we have, and what we no longer need. If it hasn't been used in a year, I won't need it, and it's taking up space that the universe needs to gift me with things I really could use. There's an energetic law that states no two things can occupy the same space (except in different dimensions, of course), so why clog up the works in the physical with junk when you can have goodies?
Within 24 hours of returning to home, all my treasures neatly tucked away or "re-gifted", the anti-clutter gene that gives me amazing ability to cut through and dispose of things mercilessly was in frenzy mode. Those Beanie Babies really won't be missed, and my body no longer resonates to a size eight. Their only purpose was to hold the emotional energy I had when they were useful. I vibrate to a higher drumbeat now. Those things are no longer needed as I can generate new energy instead of living from the past, where clutter keeps its prisoners.
Running amok, I phoned my parents. "Do you know what a job it's going to be for us to clean out your house when you're gone?" my crazed gene demanded to know.
"Yes, I know", replied my Dad calmly.
"No, really, it'll take weeks of hard labor." I said, believing he didn't get the gist of my concern.
"Yes, I know. But, I won't be here." Then, he laughed.
Maybe, if we all band together, and get really, really close as a family unit, there won't be a need for reliving that experience. Then, again, the 53 years worth of Playboys in his basement should be worth a bundle on Ebay.