Disclaimer: This is not advice. This is just me attempting to clean my mental junkyard by writing down my thoughts. It gives me temporary relief, like scratching an itch. If you’re inspired to clean your mind too, find your own way—or don’t. No pressure.

Bad move. That thought spiraled, and soon I was having an existential crisis over my bucket of soapy water.

As I stood there, lost in my philosophical trance, my wife called out, “Can you help me organize the kitchen shelves?”

I panicked. “I’m cleaning my mental garbage. Just give me five minutes.”

Her sarcasm was immediate. “Oh, great! Let me grab some popcorn and watch this groundbreaking event. Should I call a psychologist for backup?”

Touché. I went back to scrubbing the floor, wondering if sarcasm was something I could mop up.

For example, I’ve been ignoring a squeaky door for weeks, telling myself, I’ll fix it tomorrow. Now that door squeaks every time I think about my procrastination. My wife overheard me muttering about this and said, “Your mental rug must look like a landfill by now. Hope you don’t trip over it.”

 Trash Day vs. Hoarding Regrets Trash day is simple: bag it, toss it, done. But my brain? It holds onto regrets like they’re precious heirlooms.

Guess what: I do. At 3 a.m., when my brain decides to replay every problem I’ve ever ignored.

Take this gem: The time I waved enthusiastically at someone who wasn’t waving at me. Why is that memory still lurking in my head, waiting to ambush me during quiet moments?

When I shared this with my wife, she said, “Maybe your brain needs a junk drawer for cringe moments. You can label it: ‘Do Not Open Unless You’re Bored.’”

The other day, I tried to be optimistic and said, “I’m focusing on the bright side.”

Without missing a beat, my wife replied, “The bright side? What is that, a magical corner of the house where you never clean?”

Touché again.

Unhealed wounds. Old fears. Thoughts I don’t dare touch because I know they’ll hurt too much. It’s like a basement filled with emotional spiders—I’d rather leave it alone than deal with the chaos.

When I told my wife, “If I dig too deep, I might unleash an emotional apocalypse,” she shrugged and said, “Well, make sure to clean that up too. I’m not dealing with your mess.”

 The Mental Junk Drawer Every house has a junk drawer, and ours is no exception. Random screws, expired coupons, and keys we don’t recognize fill it to the brim. My brain has its own junk drawer too, stuffed with:

• Lyrics to Baby Shark.
• Worries about things I can’t control.
• A random thought about whether penguins ever get bored.

When I confessed this to my wife, she laughed. “Your brain is basically a thrift store. Full of random stuff, and no one wants any of it.”

How I Try to Clean My Mind

Here’s what I do to lighten the mental load:

• Write It Down: I dump my thoughts onto paper. It’s like taking out the trash—temporary relief, but better than nothing.
• Laugh It Off: Humor works wonders. My wife’s sarcasm helps. Whenever I get too dramatic, she says, “Wow, so brave. Should I call the Nobel committee?”
• Baby Steps: I tackle one mental task at a time. Trying to clean my entire brain at once? That’s a recipe for muttering about penguins again.

A Final Thought: Cleaning is Hard Work

Cleaning the house is tough. Cleaning the mind? That’s a lifetime project. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m trying.

So if your mind feels like a junkyard too, start small. Tidy one corner. Write something down. Laugh at yourself. And if all else fails, grab a mop, pretend you’re cleaning your brain, and pray your spouse doesn’t ask you to organize the kitchen shelves.

Just don’t tell my wife I said that.