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I was having dinner with a handful of friends the other night, when someone remarked that my house is “always so organized.”

My reply was that he must have come over on a very good day.

I am many things, but I’m not a neat freak.

Years ago I decided that people can be divided into two groups: round and square. This has nothing to do with physiognomy, but it has a lot to do with interior decoration.

Square people like symmetry, equal proportions, straight legs, white walls and sheets so tight you can bounce a quarter on them. Square people prefer their living quarters clutter-free to a point where normal conversation echoes off the (whitewashed and stark) walls.

Round people like curves, surprising juxtapositions, new and old things mixed together; their sheets are a little ruffled, but you can count on lots of pillows. Round people like a little clutter around, clutter is their soul food for comfort and inspiration, and it’s an excellent conversation starter.

I’m a round person.

Now stop laughing.

I wish I could live a minimalist life in a minimalist house in that “I have one black pillow and that’s all I need” way.

But of course I can’t – I’d probably die, or at least get migraines.

Part of my round personality also leads me to accumulate stuff. Projects. Possible projects. Things.

I hoard magazines and newspapers for inspiration, but once they end up in a stack they rarely go anywhere else.

So every couple of months I purge: Armed with a large garbage bag I rummage through the house sorting and throwing out.

The cat and the kid hide.

My latest purging rampage included all my home improvement supplies, like paint and tools, screws and nails, several kinds of glue and more types of caulk than I have colors of lipstick.

I made a surprising discovery: I had six sets of door handles in stock, which means I’ve purchased the three sets I really need twice. See? I’m not organized.

After a couple of hours I’m done hauling bags and boxes to the curbside. As I move the last bag, I’m reminded of Danish poet Piet Hein’s little poem about the tyranny of things.

Here’s my best translation:

“Am organizing 10,000 things/I think belong to me/A question appears in the middle of this/Do I own these things or not?/The truth I presume/goes something like this:/if you own more than eight different things/then you are owned by your things.”