Compulsive hoarding is a mental disorder that is just beginning to be understood. As a hoarder, I have acquired things over the years with a specific purpose in mind at the time of the acquisition, used some of those items for their intended purposes, forgotten the goal for different objects, but now that I find that they have outlived their purpose in my life I am struggling to rid myself of those same things.

You can read the start of my journey here.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Time warps.

When I think of Life Before Hubby or Life Before Kids, I have a hard time remembering things clearly. It's hard to imagine life without Hubster, Bugster, Hopper and Scooter, but it's even getting hard to remember what life was like before Bubster and Frank. My life just changed so drastically with the addition of all of these wonderful people that it's hard to remember Life Before. 

It's funny how that can happen. You know. How time can warp our very senses. Like when you fall and time seems to stand still, and you can see what is happening, but you can do nothing to stop it? Or something traumatic or even amazing happens, and you start using it as a reference point in your life. 

The last few days have been like that for me. 

No. Nothing has happened to me or my family. For the most part, we're fine. But what has happened is the Waldo Canyon Fire, and it's warping time. 

It's been burning for what feels like an eternity-especially when the smoke drifts our way and flares the asthma up, if anyone opens the door. But in all reality, it isn't even 72 hours old. It's still a baby compared to the High Park Fire which has been burning for over 2 weeks.

It sits on the edge of Colorado Springs waiting to strike. It threatens landmarks, like Garden of the Gods, that up until now have stood the test of time. It threatens thousands of homes. (At one point, over 11,000 people had been evacuated because of the risk). It is forcing wildlife into town putting both the residents and the animals themselves in jeopardy. 

To say the smoke is oppressive is an understatement to say the least. The ash floats like cotton from the cottonwood trees to the closest flat surface, settling in like fresh fallen snow. The smoke hangs in the air waiting to strangle even the most robust of lungs. Time seems to stand still, as though we're in quicksand. We can't seem to open our eyes and end the nightmare in which we find ourselves. 

If we could only will ourselves to wake up.

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