During my middle school years, I used to keep a container of vanilla icing and a teaspoon in one of my dresser drawers that I would snack from at night.

In my twenties, sometimes I’d swing by Bed, Bath, and Beyond after work to buy new towels instead of washing the ones I had that were dirty.  The dirty ones were piled into a Hefty bag used as a makeshift hamper – minimalism taken to the extreme – and it was shoved deep into my bedroom closet.  That closet, by the way, had a wooden rack that had fallen down from the weight of my impressive collection of attire, and for two years the wooden bar rested on top of the towel-filled Hefty bag, skirts, cardigans, and shimmery formal gowns in mass disarray, like colored sprinkles thrown on an ice cream sundae in a crazy hoarder’s house.