The Precipice of Mount Doom

Every time I head down into the basement, I’m faced with decades of accumulated stuff.

In my heart of hearts, I want someone else to find these treasures precious and buy them for garage-sale prices. But I’m so afraid all these tomes and trinkets have no value to anyone but me. Logically, I know it’s time to clean out the clutter. It’s truly  well past time. But as my eyes travel over these stacks piled up next to one another, I feel more and more like they’re arguing about the fate of the world by competing at higher and higher volume. I invariably feel like Frodo at the Council of Elrond. “I’ll do it!” I hold my head and cry at the shouting piles. “I’ll clear away the crap… but I do not know the way!”

This analogy will most likely become uncannily accurate at the end of all the endurance-breaking toil. I know that I’ll be standing on the volcano’s edge above the lava. My willpower will fail… and I will falter. I’m going to need some screaming lunatic to bite off my fingers and take the crap down into oblivion for me.

It’s a dangerous world…