I was packing up some of my clothes yesterday to get ready for the big move (today) and decided that such a task deserved at least some background TV so I flipped on Oprah. Watching Oprah has actually become a secret habit of mine when I head home early to "take the dogs out" or lately "pack up some stuff." It's Oprah time and what better to do at 4 p.m.? I didn't know Brooke Shields has such bad postpartum depression after her baby was born! I positioned my boxes right on the bed so that I had a good view of the television and thus the "background TV" was pretty much foreground. In fact, I'd say watching the show, and not the packing, was my primary activity. But Oprah tells it like it is. Yesterday she had on these women who have hoarding disorders. Women whose homes were a wreck because they could not get rid of anything. One had dog poop all over her house and she explained to Oprah, "those are my puppies! I love them!" Jesus, woman. Anyway, I started two piles - clothes I was taking, and clothes that could go to Goodwill. I've been meaning to do some sorting so this was as good a time as any. I picked up this one pair of strechted out, high-waisted, rainbow-colored underwear that I got at Victoria's Secret in about 1992 and thought, "Awwwwwww, I've had these for so long!" before I threw them in the pile I'd take with me to my new home. Then I looked up and watched this woman tell the story of how she had, like, 81 cats, and thought about these women, keeping stuff so just not to have to get rid of it, and I thought about pizza boxes stacked to the ceiling and I put that pair of underwear in it's rightful place, the trash can.