Packrat papers, part 1

Considering that clearing out my clutter will be a project of epic proportions, I expect this will be an ongoing theme around here. I'm happy to say I have made some progress.

I figured out where to start: old shoes. Specifically, high heels. I have a lot of them, left over from the days of the aforementioned size-six business suits. While there may be some shred of hope that the suits could fit again one day, and maybe even come back in style, there is no way I can physically wear these shoes again. Ever. I wrecked my feet doing aerobics in bad athletic shoes, and heels higher than an inch or so are just not an option any more. So out they go -- along with the bad athletic shoes which, yes, are also still here.

Right behind them in the outta-here pile are five of the six identical pairs of comfy-but-worn-out sneakers I use for gardening and all the shoes my kids have outgrown. And some really dorky ones my husband bought himself. (He got loose alone in the mall once.)

I'm really getting into this. I can see carpet in the closets already.

Next up: magazines. I don't think year-old Business Weeks are really gonna do me any good, do you?

Confessions of a packrat

Day three of unemployment, and already the thrill is gone. Yesterday was a big zero -- a negative, actually, if you count the poonchkie pigout -- so today I was determined to be productive. I thought I'd spend the morning doing some serious cleaning, since I haven't done that in oh, say, years. Problem is, I can't figure out where to start.

Here's the thing: I am a world-class packrat. If collecting was an Olympic event, I'd take home the gold -- and I'd store that gold forever. I love my stuff, I really do. Old stuff, new stuff, junk, heirlooms, you name it. I mean, why have a basement, garage and attic at all, if you aren't going to fill them up? Why throw away perfectly good things, just because you don't need them right this moment? Why would God even PUT space under our beds if we weren't meant to use it? The clutter has been an issue for my husband along the way, but never for me. Until now.

Today, suddenly, really looking at it, it's all too much. WAY too much. And the weird thing is, the deeper I poke into closets and corners, the more I feel as if I'm in somebody else's house. The place is packed with relics of my former lives, buried remains of identities lost or forsaken, all covered in dust. This is not like cleaning house, this is like excavating Pompeii -- and all the frozen, mummified bodies are younger versions of me.

Omigod ...  I just realized something: That's why I'm holding on to everything. The detritus and castoffs from my childhood home, class notes from college, the potter's wheel and kiln, the 22-year-old size-six business suits, the kids' baby clothes, all of it ... they represent parts of me, phases of my life that I loved and lost. Throwing it out would be to call it all garbage. To throw away my life.

But that's nuts, isn't it? I am not this stuff, after all. Hanging on to these things didn't make time stop. It all moved on anyway, and will keep right on doing so, and that is as it should be. These things don't belong here anymore. 

I think I can start letting go now. But I still don't know where to start.

Fat, Fat Tuesday

It's Mardis Gras! This is one of the Things I Want to Do Before I Die. I want it all -- the chaos, the costumes, masks, beads, wretched excess... gimme gimme gimme!

I may be missing out on the parades again, but I am gettin' me some of  that wretched excess: Poonchkies. The idea behind the poonchkie was to use up all the fat and sugar in the house before Lent. The result is like a Krispy Kreme on steroids, a Polish pastry from hell, and you can buy them only on Fat Tuesday... Today.

Like, NOW, before they're all gone.

Kickin' down the cobblestones

"I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morningtime drop all its petals on me
Life, I love you
All is groovy!"

Well, I am finally, officially unemployed. It's been two solid months of shock, depression and anguish, but I've put things in order, said the good-byes and handed in the keys. Today is the proverbial first day of the rest of my life, and so far I am loving it. 

This morning I had breakfast with my kid, poured a second cuppa, got comfy on the sofa and listened to C-Span2 Book TV  -- a whole, fascinating program, all the way through (Sam Harris, 'The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason'). Laundry is running, I've handled the Superbowl aftermath, and I'm in here playing with my Journal. Life is so good.

I want to apologize to those who posted comments here on my entries about getting laid off. I decided to remove those entries for professional reasons, and I do hope you'll forgive me and come back in to play. I'll certainly be spending more time here and stopping by to read all your wonderful entries.

And with that, I'm off to the gym. Toodles!