The first time I watched Hoarders that creeping, tingling feeling started up the back of my neck followed soon after by the muffling of all outside sound. It was crazy making time. I'm not sure what coping mechanism kicked in next, pacing, going to bed or taking action against that top hat wearing green goblin Mr. Anxiety. Whichever it was, the next day my car was loaded with black garbage bags headed to the local charity shop.
A collector dances a very seductive rumba with the hoarder. Does having a venue to sell one's collections differentiate one from the hoarder?
Twenty years ago this was once a quaint used book shop.