Hoarding is relative to space. I think some hoarders tell themselves that soon they will win the lottery and live in a gigantic house, where all their stuff will fit. Others do it out of insecurity and anxiety.
Years ago, I had to empty out a four bedroomed house with a loft that was the size of my whole house now. It was horrendous and funny at the same time. I was too embarrassed to take a regular six bags of stuff to the same charity shop every time so I would do it in rotation, sometimes driving quite far afield.
The worst load was an entire bin bag full of plastic boxes- the tupperware ones. I couldn't bear to waste them by recycling them; I was sure someone could use them.
Now I'm sure they couldn't.
I've written before about the embarrassing trip (quite liderally) to the Oxfam shop with a pile of albums
I have grown quite good at clearing stuff out; I do look at the contents of my house and think that if I lived in a three bedroom semi, my house would be empty. Now I think it might be time to sell the piano, which hasn't been played for months and months; not because I don't want it, but because I do play the guitar all the time and that's why I don't play the piano.
Being an academic, I have loads and loads of books, most of which are out of date because I buy them second hand. I do use libraries too- it's just that I gobble up information like a starving penguin gulping down herring and I can't always keep up with the library routine of ordering, collecting, reading very fast and returning (you can't read academic books quickly).
You may have guessed by now that this posting is a Sunday prevarication.
I have a lecture to write before tomorrow, and I'm taking a break after tidying up the back yard which has been invaded by a wealth of wingnuts that, had I not swept them up and uprooted them, would have resulted in sycamore forest out there come the summer.
It's time to make a pot of coffee and fire up the brain.