I used to be able to throw things away with abandon. I was ruthless, (despite my middle name being Ruth), in my ‘trashing’ of so-called valued possessions. I was a cold-hearted killer of old school projects, childhood pictures, and last years tax information. Sometimes to my financial detriment. Somewhere along the lines of constantly moving, I divorced sentiment from object and was able to travel the world free, and unencumbered.
[The previous paragraph is in no way a reference to any of my books:
1. A set of written, printed, or blank pages fastened along one side and encased between protective covers.
a. A printed or written literary work.
b. A main division of a larger printed or written work: a book of the Old Testament.
a. A volume in which financial or business transactions are recorded.
b. books Financial or business records considered as a group: checked the expenditures on the books.
a. A libretto.
b. The script of a play.
a. The Bible.
b. The Koran.
a. A set of prescribed standards or rules on which decisions are based: runs the company by the book.
b. Something regarded as a source of knowledge or understanding.
As I have never willingly parted with such an object. I have both the Bible and the Koran.]
Around 2010, I was living in a travel trailer on my parents property. I was refusing to live indoors, as that would mean I would have to say I “lived with my parents”, again, at the age of 25. I couldn’t handle it so I was ‘homeless’ instead. My poor mother.
I was down to the absolute bare minimum of ‘personal property’. My two cats, my dog, my iMac computer, and my childhood teddy bear named Simpson. [Before you ask, he is not a possession, he is a childhood friend. You can’t throw out a friend!] I lived in that trailer for 5 months. I would lie awake at night, on the elevated bed, staring at the ceiling four inches in front of my face, and I planned my next home.
My next home, would be home, it would be the place I resided until I got married. It would have a wood stove, and an ocean view, and a bathtub. I would really live in it! Put pictures on the walls and everything! I would throw dinner parties, I would paint, I would choose color schemes. I would ‘settle down’ with myself. And a short five months later, sans bathtub, I did all that and more.
I love my home. I should have shown you all pictures, but I am only so organised. Despite the lack of bathtub, and proper flooring, it is everything I have ever wanted. It’s a little beach house, I painted my kitchen bright spastic lime green, and not only does it have a wood stove – that’s it’s only source of heat! Like, totally authentic. However, something happened, I got engaged.
I am in the pink fluffy cloud of newly engaged. I am showing everyone my ring, telling and re-telling the story of how he popped the question, I am totally forgetting that I have to move in with him. Crap. Somewhere in the joyful bliss of living in my dream home, I stopped throwing away stuff. Now I look like one of those “buried alive” people. This brings up two topics of panic for me.
1) I have to pack up all my stuff. No, not all my stuff….
a) I have to throw away tons of stuff then pack up all my stuff. No, wait…
b) I have to organize my stuff into three piles; “Keep” “Toss” and “Donate”.
Then I have to pack up my “Keep” stuff and eventually, after much
procrastination and two forgotten garbage days, throw away the “Trash”
and “Donate” stuff.
2) I have to move in with TF for all time. No, wait… nope, yep that’s it. (I have
some ignored and neglected committment issues, I’m sure they’ll be fine.)
Anyway, if you’re wondering where I’ve been, it’s been mulling over and stressing about above topic. Nope I haven’t done anything about it yet, just waste a lot of thought on it. Now, go finish your real job! What do you think this is, Friday afternoon?