This is the only thing I've posted to the Medium site. I think about writing more, but I'm not sure how personal I want to be outside of this site which isn't likely to be read by anyone. So I post here.

It starts out small. You don’t suspect at all. One day you just have a bit more stuff than space, more stuff than time or energy. So you make a pile of it. Maybe on the seat of a chair, a stack on a shelf, a junk drawer in the kitchen. A few things tossed on your bed while you tidy up the rest of the room.

Hoarding comes along easy.

That pile of stuff on the chair doesn't get dealt with and next time you want to use the chair the stuff is in the way. A minor annoyance so you stash it somewhere else. A temporary fix, right?

Sometimes you may get caught up and avoid the start of a hoard. Usually you don’t. I don’t. I have a stash of unfinished work on nearly every surface available in my bedroom, most of the floor space is taken up with bags of stuff to do. I also have books, some tidy and organized on their shelves and some in stacks on the floor, or in bags. The non-fiction books are things I wanted to do, the person I thought I could be.

The rest of the house is tidy. Right now. I don’t live alone half the year. But, that’s part of the problem too. She is a clutter freak. Anything left out bothers her. I like having my coffee pot and the coffee grinder out on the kitchen counter. Why not, I use them every day at least once. I clean up any spilled coffee grounds or drips from the pot. There is no mess, just two pieces of kitchen gadgets out in open space. It took time but I’m now allowed to have them out.

Anything else I want to keep must be stashed away. This means adding it to other stashes, stacks and piles of stuff in my room. Stuff gets lost in there. It is a jungle of piles and stacks and stashes of assorted stuff I need or at least don’t want to have taken, thrown out, or lost.

Ironic that I keep things here to avoid losing them when I've long gotten past the point of being able to keep track and find much any more. But, its not forgotten. Things my (well intentioned) family have thrown away, I remember. Some more than others, of course.

Once, they threw away almost almost everything when I was away for a couple of weeks. I came back to an almost empty room. It was nice to see the floor but, there was nothing left of me in there. Privacy invaded. It was like I had died and they got rid of all my stuff along with burying my body. I felt like a walking corpse for a long time.

Hoarding happens when you need to hold on to things and run out of better options, or space.

Don’t think hoarding, keeping things, is taking the easy way out. Living this way is frustrating, for me more than anyone else. They may think whatever they like and they believe the problem is me. It is and yet it isn't just me.

A lot of the stuff here are things other people want me to do for them. Tasks and jobs and demands I have not found time or energy to do. Do you know the old joke about a round tuit? Look that one up. If you ever do find that legendary round tuit please send it to me when you’re done tuiting.

I need to say no but that isn't so simple. I won’t get into all of that. It’s an exercise in frustration to explain my need to be perfect and fix everything, do too much and prove myself to anyone who isn't inside my own head. So, just know that it is very hard for me to say no to family and friends who ask for simple, small favours. I add their projects, errands, lists, problems, and assorted other things to my hoard of to-do.

I don’t think anyone outside of hoarders can understand the pressure of having too much stuff around them. It weighs on you, it pushes against you and it limits you mentally, emotionally and physically too. I hate having just a small path trough my bedroom from the door to the bed with the computer desk being along that same path. I can’t put my clean clothes away because I can’t reach the closet. I can’t start tidying up because I no longer know where to begin. It’s all a chain. One thing leads to another and another. To pull one string means pulling another and finding a place to put the first string before I can pull the next string. But, there is no more room to put anything. A pile falls over and that is a frustrating and hopeless feeling.

I toss a pile of papers and old photos onto another stack of papers piled up on the floor. Another task demanded and no time or energy to do it. Another weight added to the pressure. Another layer added to the stuff I already can’t deal with! It lands atop the other stuff and I’m angry because this was demanded of me and I know I can’t do more and this is just more of more.

People think a hoarder is an awful thing: dirty, miserable, derelict. I’m not any of those things. Not ever miserable. I live my life around this hoard and I try to function in spite of it all. I can’t let go and give up the things in this hoard which I actually value. I don’t want to give up on the person I thought I could be, the things I thought I would do. I can’t give up on the things I said I would do, even the things I never actually agreed to do. I feel pressure and guilt and anger. It’s depressing, oppressing.

A simple solution is to deal with some small part of it each day.

Seems simple enough. Until you start somewhere and get caught up in one thing for too long. One thing leads to another problem when you don’t have enough space to work in. Too many things are buried and it is frustrating to know they are there but out of reach. To begin finding what I need causes the moving of the hoard which means the things which were on top (the things I could locate) will now be moved and become the things I can’t find.

Hoarding is a trap.

During half the year when I live here alone I take a few days and then begin moving things out of my space and into another spare room. I get some clearance, some room to move and work. At first the release of having space and feeling hope again is just nice in itself. I haven’t thrown anything away but I have space again. Having space makes me feel I have some control, and can actually do something about all of it.

I make some progress. Last time I began with clothes. I sorted out a lot of clothes I haven’t worn in years and those which I won't be wearing now that I’m no longer 20-something. I had them all ready to go to the Salvation Army thrift store. I felt good thinking some other woman would be able to wear those clothes. But, I got caught up in road blocks.

I was stopped from giving away the clothes because other people thought I shouldn't just give them away. “You can’t just give away something that still has value! Some day you may fit into that again. That dress used to look so great on you”.

Isn't that funny? I thought I was the hoarder.

There are women gamers who play DnD too. (People sometimes shorten the name, Dungeons and Dragons, to DnD).

There is so much to a game I can’t begin to describe and explain all of it. But, I do think this is a great game for women and families especially. It may have a reputation as a geeky game for a bunch of college boys. That is so limiting.

I played Dungeons & Dragons with my family in the 1980′s. My nephew played with young men and a few young women in high school too. I know there are women players out there. I would love to be part of a regular group of all women DnD players.

Essentially a role playing board game.

To play the game you need a group of people, at least three. One is the Dungeon Master and the other two are players.

The players create a character by choosing some elements and rolling a dice for others. This way no character is ever just like another character. The random chance of rolling the dice brings some unpredictability to the game. Not everything is in your control and levelling up becomes more important as your characters advances in the game. You will find yourself learning new skills as well. Map making and orientation are two great things I learned more about as I played DnD.

Then there is the Dungeon Master. It may sound sinister or creepy but the Dungeon Master (shortened to the DM at times) is the one who plans the route of the game, literally. The Dungeon Master creates a world, a campaign or a map (depending on how much time is available for the game) and the players venture into it.

Players explore the map one virtual step at a time. The DM has set up traps, treasure and monster for them to find along the way. Each step of the game can be a surprise, a puzzle to solve or players could muck up their map making and become very lost and confused. This is why you can’t just step into a game of DnD without setting things up ahead and learning at least something about map making.

Muriel Dreams of a Better Life and Waits for it to Happen

Muriel dreams of a wonderful life with a fantastic wedding and a Prince Charming. She thinks having this will change her life for her. Muriel gets the wedding and the Prince but discovers those things were just dreams and her reality can be so much better when she stops waiting for her dreams to happen and goes after life herself.

Muriel is a modern Cinderella who makes it all come out right, for herself. You can be proud of Muriel because she starts on the bottom and pulls herself up again, twice. The second time even better than the first.

Muriel is a nobody girl living in Porpoise Spit, Australia. She doesn’t have a job, and spends most of her time listening to ABBA music in her room, dreaming of the life she wants. Her life has no direction, her Father makes her feel like nothing. All Muriel wants is a wedding. Her wedding.

She steals money from her Father and takes a tropical vacation, befriends Rhonda and returns home. But she doesn’t stay there. Rather than face her Father about the missing money Muriel strikes out on her own. She works in a video store and meets Tim. Rhonda is there too. You would think it would all just go along from there – but Muriel marries rich!

Muriel Gets her Dream Wedding

When Muriel does get her wedding and changes her life she discovers the life she thought she wanted so much is nothing like the life she could have on her own. She leaves her husband, an arranged marriage with a South African soccer player, finds her friend Rhonda (who is now wheel chair bound and living with her Mother back in Porpoise Spit) and together they leave for parts unknown – somewhere not Porpoise Spit, Australia.

One of the great things about this movie are the stories of the secondary characters. Muriel’s Mother (Betty) has the saddest story. Muriel’s Mother mistakenly wears shoes she did not pay for out of the shopping mall. She is arrested. The family attacks her, especially Muriel’s Father who is verbally abusive to everyone in the family and has a mistress on the side (which Betty chooses not to know). Betty, abused by all and even snubbed by Muriel at a time when she tried to connect with her, has an emotional breakdown and commits suicide.

The scene where the laundry is in rags and still left hanging on the drying rack outside – after Betty has died is one which sticks in my mind. This is Muriel’s visit home after the funeral. She realizes the life her Mother led, a quiet desperate and sad life. This is where Muriel changes her own life, again, and frees herself from her past and all those old dreams.

Muriel Doesn’t Make Changing your Life Look Easy but She Shows it can be Done

It is a wonderful movie. Without seeing it for yourself you can’t know how great it is and have that awesome feeling at the end as Muriel takes the taxi out of Porpoise Spit, Australia finally leaving her old sad life behind.

I like seeing “Muriel” in movies since 1994 when Muriel’s Wedding was made.. Of course, the actress (Toni Collette) went on to make more movies but she will always be Muriel in my mind. Muriel is too wonderful to ever be forgotten. Snort (you just have to watch the movie).

I've never understood the draw of scary movies. I can read about scary things, frightening and horror books are interesting when they have a real story behind them. There are very awful, frightening and horrifying things in the world. I guess having experienced my own personal, real horror, I don't want to see it illustrated with extra violence, blood and aggression in moving pictures. Besides, the books rely on your own imagination so you can use your own inner censor (or just skip a few paragraphs, pages or chapters even). When you watch a horror movie the best you can do is close your eyes and hum while you view someone's nightmare.

Is Horror like Culture Shock for you?

So, I don't enjoy horror on the screen. I did watch Fearless Vampire Killers on television last year, however. I liked the campy 70's feel to it. I liked the cleverly stupid humour. I liked that it was intended as a satire. So, even though there were some awful moments which I did cringe through, it was easier to consider them as part of the satire than to think of them as something more.

One odd thing about the movie was the sexuality. In these days, about 40 years later so much has changed. Yet this movie is pretty open about sexual relationships, specifically homosexuality. Watching it, I wondered if this is more open and somewhat perverted than would be accepted in our media/ movies now.

I loved the historical costumes and the costumes in general from Fearless Vampire Killers. One thing I do enjoy about vampire movies and TV shows are the costumes, the clothes and even the home style too when it's more than just bland background. Especially nice is the scene where they dance in their old fashioned ball gowns, suits, wigs and all. The castle is shown well too in several scenes. The rooftop still stand out in my memories of the movie.

Also, the surprise ending was pulled off well, even though I was expecting it. I was still surprised.

What do you think of horror movies? Do you watch the satires or must it be all out gore and dripping blood (no funny stuff) to please you?

Would rather read a book than see the movie... try one of these paranormal writers - my personal picks and among my favourites.

Betsy, Queen of the Vampires is the main character. MaryJanice Davidson is credited as the first to write paranormal fiction with humour. She is very prolific as a writer. It is easy to wind up spending the night reading in bed and realizing you have read through the night just because you could not find a place you wanted to stop reading and put down the book.

Gerry Bartlett writes about a plus sized vampire babe, Glory. I started reading the series just for that reason. But, the story drew me in and I have read all but the latest two. It is a shame the books don't come out in standard paperback here. I end up waiting to find them in secondhand bookstores. Which suits me fine but does mean there is a lot of waiting involved.

Kimberly Raye is no longer writing this series. A huge shame because I loved the characters in her books. The heroine, Lil could be a fashionable shoe diva type (which I am not) but she was so much more and she did not let her shoes keep her from adventure, even if it meant getting dirty. The male characters are not just cardboard cut outs either. I liked that Lil's men could be grumpy, could even be jerks but still feel like a guy you wanted to notice you, in a good way.

These are three paranormal writers who write about vampires with humour, fun and the occasional blood letting for those who must have some element of the traditional horror in their vampire tales. I am involved in reading each of the series of books below. However, Kimberley Raye's Dead End Dating series ran aground and it doesn't seem to be continuing.

I would be glad to have suggestions for more paranormal books with humour in the comments. There are a few others I have read but these are my favourites, so far.

I strongly recommend Kim Harrison too, especially if you love adventure more than satire or humour.

I can't think of any family event where there was not coffee and people making coffee. Sometimes there would be a full holiday dinner, sometimes there would be tea or coffee. But, always there was coffee.

The Early Days with the Drip Coffee Maker

I remember our old drip coffee makers. Back in the days of plastic coffee makers, when my Mom would only drink the coffee beans from the A & P (Atlantic and Pacific) grocery store chain. That was before the days of the coffee grinder at home so we would have to make sure to open the big, black bag and grind the beans in the store before bringing them home. I remember the smell of the freshly ground beans.

The Coffee Grinder Days Begin

Later, she got into having whole beans which she ground at home. It was a small coffee grinder but made a lot of noise. I would hear it in the morning as I got ready for school. When we had family over the grinder would be working harder with more beans to grind. You couldn't put too many beans in at one time because they grew in volume once ground and there was always a mess when you removed the lid after grinding with the machine too full.

I have a lot of memories of my Grandmother and her sisters being at our house. The sound of the coffee grinder, the smell of the beans and myself serving the coffee with cream and milk and sugar into china sets and small spoons to stir the coffee. I'd set it all up on the table where all three generations of women would be working at sewing or baking for the holidays or just for something to work on together.

My Uncle offered to make a run to the store for coffee and a few other supplies one holiday weekend. But, he didn't know about the coffee in the red bag versus the coffee in the black bag. He picked the wrong one. Mom drank it, served it to everyone too but said it just wasn't as nice as her usual coffee in the black bag. I think it was called, Eight O Clock, but I'm not sure now.

The Hot, Foamy Milk with the Milk Press

As I grew up, her coffee style changed. During a long trip to the Dominican Republic with my sister, Mom got used to having her coffee with hot milk. Not just heated up on the stove or in the microwave but heated in a pot on the stove and then made foamy with a milk press. She has a collection of these milk presses now. Of course, she only likes a certain kind and they aren't so easily found. A company located in Quebec seems to be the last place which still makes the milk press she likes.

My First Coffee Maker - The Manual Drip Pot

I adapted my Mother's coffee style, when that was what I knew as I became a coffee drinker. However, once I got my first place on my own I didn't want her style of coffee maker. Those drip pots were awful once the calcium built up. I remember the day we threw out our old faithful drip pot and the next one after that. By the time I was on my own my Mom was using a percolator pot, the type which is typically used for espresso coffee but she uses it for all her coffee. My first coffee maker was a manual drip pot, from Melitta (all in red). I still have that pot though I seldom bring it out to use now.

My Next Coffee Was Made in the French Press

I never have gotten into the hot, foamy milk as my Mother did. Most of the other relatives would enjoy it when visiting Mom but no one else goes through all that trouble at home, as far as I know. My brother is the only one who has taken up coffee making as an art the way my Mother has. I like less fuss, less mess and a simpler coffee making process. So my next coffee maker was a French press. I like not having to buy coffee filters.

In the years since that first French press I've had various pots of that type. Some were all metal, some were more plastic and some came with stands for the hot pot to sit on. Only one was ever red in colour. I've kept a few of them around. You do need at least one big coffee maker when people come to visit. I didn't (so far) buy either a coffee grinder or a milk press/ frother.

Then Came the Marvelous Percolating Pot

I was happy with the French press for years. It travels well - just need the ability to boil water in some way and then (as long as you brought your beans and coffee cream) you were all set.

However, I found a wonderful cordless percolator coffee maker at a thrift store. I would not usually buy one. I don't need more coffee makers. But, it was like new and shiny and I was curious to see how it would be as a coffee maker to take on travels. It is quite good. Of course, I still need to bring the essentials but the percolator travels well. Plus, it is sturdier than the glass pot of the French press.

Coffee and Coffee Making is a Part of my Family and our Travels Together

Everyone has their own favourite coffee makers, their favourite way of making coffee and their specialties of choosing beans, grinding them fresh or not, and then how you choose to serve your coffee (cream, milk, sugar, black, etc.). For my family coffee and coffee making has always had a part in every gathering. It has a part in deciding where we stay and what we do on holidays too. When coffee is important you have to find a place to stay that lets you make your own coffee or is at least located near a place that looks like "the coffee will be good!"