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It’s always humbling to realize you have a problem, a weakness, perhaps even a pathology. When it’s brought to your attention, you might deny it or rail against it. But there it is. Your problem. Not going away.

In cleaning out the attics in our house this week to find stuff to donate to our church rummage sale, I made a remarkable and disconcerting discovery.

I’m a pillow hoarder.

There, I said it.

It’s hard to admit, but I think I have a pillow problem. I found, stuffed into bags and stashed in the attics, no fewer than a dozen throw pillows of various shapes and sizes (most on the large side) that I was saving in case I ever wanted to recover them. You know, because throw pillows can be so prohibitively expensive that once you have them, you really need to hang onto them. Perhaps they will appreciate in value sitting there in your 100 degree attic.

Though I was tempted to keep some of them, I pushed them all into the car and now they are sitting atop long tables awaiting new homes with new owners who will use them (I hope).

Phew! It feels so good to get that off my chest.