Elizabeth G. confesses: I Have a Dirty Little Secret

I’m a Virgo. In astrological terms that means I’m neat, tidy, and well-organized. Some might even say anal. (Like some of my fellow Quills.)

I make lists, lots of lists. Daily lists. Weekly lists. Monthly lists. I keep multiple calendars. One in my office. One on the desk in the kitchen and a third by the phone where I jot down a brief description of each incoming or outgoing business call. I once put up a FIVE-YEARS-AT-A-GLANCE calendar, but even I couldn't handle the stress of seeing that much of my life staring back at me each morning, and I took it down almost immediately.

So, while in many ways I’m a typical Virgo, it’s time to confess my dirty little secret: I’m also a pack rat.

I didn’t start out life as a pack rat — which, I suppose, is what all pack rats say. It sneaked up on me. Honest, folks, it did. It happened gradually over weeks and months and years. One September we suddenly quit making corporate moves every other day. (Only a slight exaggeration.) The need to clean out, sort, divest, shed, winnow, and de-clutter was no longer a priority in my life.

Being a pack rat is all about the clutter.

And, since they say confession is good for the soul, here goes:

I have four-inch stilettos in my closet and I only wear flat sandals and sensible walking shoes at this point in my life. As a matter of fact, I go barefoot 99% of the time.

I have six sizes of blue jeans — well, some are light blue, some dark denim, and a couple of pair are black — and I haven't worn jeans in a decade.

I have a silk sweater I fell in love with and paid too much for nearly fifteen years ago. It was a size too small even then. I’ve never worn it. Still, hope springs eternal: I keep it neatly folded in tissue paper for that miraculous day when I will finally put it on and discover that it fits me like a glove.

There is a huge storage closet in my office. I haven't seen the floor of that closet in . . . well, truthfully, no one knows how long it’s been. I certainly don’t. In fact, I have no idea what’s in THE ABYSS besides a box of my foreign editions, some leftover promotional postcards for a historical romance published by Topaz in 1998, and a bag of research materials from our last trip to France. AND that’s what’s visible when I open the closet door, which I try to avoid doing for obvious reasons.

I tell myself that one day, some day, I will file all of my royalty statements, which are currently piled in neat and tidy “Stella stacks.” (A term you may recall from a blog we Quills did last year about our offices and named in honor of our very own Stella Cameron.)

I keep my National Geographics in the linen closet. (Where else would one keep them?) At least I quit subscribing, so they’re not actually multiplying any longer.

Yes, my name is Elizabeth G. and I’m a pack rat.

Boy, howdy, as our Jayne would say: I feel better already. Like a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Maybe during my hiatus this summer I’ll clean out my underwear drawer or finally tackle THE ABYSS.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I’ll curl up with a cup of tea and read the wonderful books waiting for me on my TBR pile.

Inquiring Minds want to know: What’s in your closet? Are you a “closet” pack rat, too?

Happy Spring Cleaning . . . or not.
EG