Sometimes I think the desire to minimalise is a mental illness.

Last night, much to Jamie's consternation, I was cleaning out the cutlery drawers, throwing old wooden spoons (those slatted ones have a way of holding crud, and why must they include them in sets?) into the 'op shop' box by the front door, nestling spoons with spoons and forks with forks, and wondering why a torch, a hairband, half a pack of gum, three screws and two almonds are doing in the second drawer down.

I'd already cleaned out the tupperware drawer. If a container didn't have a lid, out! I'd snapped photos for Marketplace - the ricecooker I never use, the spare cast iron pot for bread I no longer bake, the bamboo steamer that's never steamed the anticipated bao bun. Five dollars here, twenty dollars there.

^{Don't worry, my house isn't always this tidy.}

The sauces were sorted - partly because of the bottle of fermented beetroot chilli sauce that finally exploded. The bottom inch of a bottle of fish sauce got added to the half full jar of fish sauce, and the first bottle in the recycling. The sink cupboard was wiped thoroughly, the brush and dustpan washed and popped on the front deck to dry.

'Tidy house, tidy mind', I say to Jamie. 'Sorry'. He's trying to mark Physics papers, and the banging and crashing are rather disturbing. He's the same though - he spend most of the morning in the shed sorting things into boxes and working out where things will go, and getting me to put gearboxes and things on Marketplace because he refuses to get the app or communicate with prospective sellers.

It's more than that though. I recognise this feeling. It's the feeling that if I can control my space, I can rein in the things that aren't in control, like how much money I don't have and when the house is going to sell. I'm anxious. I can't leave things to the universe like others I know do, so carefree and laissez faire. Jamie just spends the money until I cry stop. Even when I say we don't have any, he's showing me things to buy on Marketplace.

Oak bedside tables, $250. No babe, we have bedside tables.
Entertainment unit, $100. No babe, we don't have money for that.
Drill, because mine can't hold charge, $80.

'Will you stop fucking asking me to spend money?' I wail, throwing a micro fibre cloth into the sink where it splatters wetly.

'Sorry' he says, and gets back to his marking.

I don't want the clutter in my drawers and cupboards because it makes my mind feel more crowded. If I can sort everything out and have just what I need, I might relax a little. I think of my Mum after my Dad's death, when I asked her what she was going to do when she'd sorted out every drawer.

'Start again' she said, laughing sadly.

I imagine that hoarders are just doing the opposite thing for the same reasons.