Sorting Through My Life

It’s amazing to think, I moved into my new condo 12 months ago. And the only things I still need to do are finish organizing the 16 boxes of files I brought along, finish sorting through ALL the new crap I bought and all the OLD paperwork I brought with from my previous house (10 years ago!) and wash the floors, clean the carpets, do the dishes, wash the laundry, dust the dust bunnies, and it will be LIKE I was JUST born. Because as we all know—the bigger the space we have—the more crap we accumulate! And the more crap we accumulate—the larger the toilet we need for it (or in MY case, the larger the house).

So, if I had the money, by the time I reached retirement age, I’d have a castle in Europe JUST to house all the stuff I’ve accumulated to age 55 (hell, I’m going to retire at 55 if I can AFFORD a castle for my crap—if I’m going to dream-write, I’m going to dream-write BIG!).

But why is it, I can’t seem to get rid of all those old stained things I own, or I don’t wear anymore, or I can't use until I have a place to work on them? Like the brown spotted t-shirts (HOW do t-shirts get brown spots?—I do NOT want to know!). Like the items I’m GOING to use some day for some artistic endeavor (IF I ever can afford a basement or yard—that I can stain with stain/paint/ink/dye or bleach!). Like the old letters from my great grandmother to my mother—that are written in hieroglyphics—and who cares why she decided to go to Dubuque anyway! Like my Great Aun'ts old handkerchiefs that are all stained and have age holes in them—that someday I want to iron and do SOMETHING with—and I do NOT mean blow my nose (they're way too feminine for that! Yet somehow they aren’t too feminine to display?). Like the shoes that are blue that I can’t wear anywhere because, well, they’re just so last decade's color. Like the change from Europe that is worth nothing (many of the countries do NOT exist anymore) and is probably worth close to nothing EVEN if the countries still existe—but somehow NEEDS to be carried from one new house to another new house to another new house to another new house.

And if I could EVER get rid of these things…all these things…these memories…this junk…my oddities…it would be like I was just born. That is, just born a damned pack-rat! Ready to start over. Oh, how I wish for a fire someday, so I can start this collecting nightmare ALL over again!