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"When I lived in Washington, DC, after college, my then-roommate called me &amp;quot;Pig-Pen.&amp;quot; It was a well-deserved nickname: A few months prior, as a senior at the University of Virginia, I&amp;#039;d lived on The Lawn, a particularly picturesque area of campus. Outside my dorm room were pristine pavilions and lush, grassy courts. But inside my room was a mess of epic proportions. Three Mile Island was an easier cleanup. On graduation day, my parents were driving down from our home in Arlington, VA. I figured I had about an hour to create some semblance of cleanliness\u2014or at least an upgrade from biohazard status. I stowed clothes in drawers, stuffed papers and books in cubbies, and came up with what I thought was a really creative way to tackle my pile of dirty dishes: I hid them in the trunk of my car. This is a true story that I&amp;#039;d like to chalk up to my youth\u2014but sadly, history recently repeated itself. This past December, I was cleaning out my apartment before a holiday party. Cut to me in the garage, stuffing boxes of junk into the back of my minivan. A poster of Audrey Hepburn stared back at me, as if to say, &amp;quot;Really?!?&amp;quot; It was the wakeup call I needed: Holly Golightly helped me see the light. To be clear, my home isn&amp;#039;t dirty; it&amp;#039;s just disorganized. My home office has become ground zero for my hoarder ways, with magazines piled waist-high and enough pairs of reading glasses to open an optical shop of my own. Oh, and an American Classics VHS film collection lining the top of a bookcase. As I removed a dusty Gone with the Wind during that epic cleaning day, I conjured up my best Scarlett O&amp;#039;Hara: &amp;quot;As God is my witness, I&amp;#039;ll never be messy again!&amp;quot; So, I&amp;#039;ve begun. Over and over, scientific studies have linked clutter and disorganization to depression, anxiety and general unhappiness, and I can tell you, clearing up your space helps clear your mind as well. I&amp;#039;m a happy person, for sure, but I&amp;#039;m even happier with a clean house. I&amp;#039;ve set goals that are simple\u2014things like, always put a dirty dish into the dishwasher. (There&amp;#039;s a much higher likelihood of it getting cleaned there than in the trunk of a Dodge.) When I&amp;#039;m in my home office, I force myself to tackle one pile before leaving. My new mantra is, &amp;quot;When in doubt, throw it out.&amp;quot; If it&amp;#039;s worth donating, recycling or selling, go for it. Otherwise, right into the trash. Old habits die hard, so I&amp;#039;m not expecting miracles overnight. But finally, at age 56, I can say with a certain amount of pride: There&amp;#039;s no more junk...in my actual trunk. This article originally appeared on WomansDay.com "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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