My home looks like a suitable nominee for one of those "reality" shows about hoarders.
It's not dirty, per se, (or at least not very,) moldering dishes in the sink, or evidence of animals, (either pets or volunteers,) but it is overflowing with unread books and periodicals, unframed pictures, undonated surplus goods, unanswered mail, unfinished projects, unhemmed clothing, unsorted stuff.
Stuff, stuff and stuff.
What I have only just realized is that I only ever didn't let this get out of hand out of dread of what my Mother would think of me if she saw it.
Isn't that shameful?
With her gone can anyone else scare me straightened?