Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Worthless Crap.

When I was initially packing, everything I owned seemed incredibly important. Even the trivial things. The tupperware containers in the fridge was suddenly essential to my well-being, the post-it notes that were buried in the junk drawer (and never used) were things I couldn't bear to toss into the recycle pile, and the mere thought of parting with a pair of jeans I wore during my trip to Paris, but haven't worn since last winter was unthinkable. Then I moved. Then I realized I didn't need the stack of papers detailing every oil change I had on a car I no longer owned. I didn't need stacks of magazines. I didn't need every piece of clothing or costume jewelry I had accumulated over the years. I had some work to do.

To say that I'm attached to my worldly possessions could quite possibly be an understatement. When I was a child, I wanted to keep everything. Why should I have to choose between keeping one toy over another. Why couldn't I keep both? There were times if I wanted something new, I had to get rid of something old. While it was particularly traumatizing to my younger self, I'm sure it prevented me from becoming the ultimate hoarder. To this day, however, I cannot part with my things unless I'm in the proper state of mind and usually not too much at once. So what state of mind might that be? There are two, actually. One is when I am so blinding mad that I want to throw everything away or set it all on fire. The second, is when I am so sad and upset that I want to throw everything away because I don't care about anything anymore. Truth be told, either state of mind really has the same effect.


When I sorted through what was coming home and what was going into storage, I realized I had a lot coming home with me, even though I was able to get rid of three large shopping bags of clothing while I was packing. And that was just because. I wasn't mad, I wasn't sad, I was getting rid of a few things I didn't need anymore or no longer suited my fashion sense. Then I got home and realized that my walk-in closet was enabling me to be a shopaholic and I should have probably implemented the rules of "get rid of it if it hasn't been worn in a year" or "bring something in, take something out". Unfortunately, I hadn't done any of those things because I didn't need to at the time. Then I returned to my 5ft closet and I knew I would soon be facing another battle. Luckily for me, the emotional roller coaster of moving allowed me to disconnect without becoming an angry bitch or a mopey crybaby and I began to toss things out left and right. It really is all a bunch of worthless crap, but so much of it holds meaning to me that it's slightly embarrassing. I probably should have gotten rid of everything and started fresh, but it would've been impossible for me to do. Instead, I started a donation pile of clothing, accessories, and a single pair of shoes (because asking me to part with my shoes is just absurd). I could still comb through my drawers and hangers a few more times, but I feel good about what I've done so far. Like I said, I can't do everything all at once. It makes me uneasy. I still have yet to figure out where to keep my bulky sweaters until I need them for winter and what items should have probably gone to storage in the first place, but I'm working it out. I'll get there. I just need to work a little more quickly so I don't have to be surrounded by the chaos of partially unpacked boxes and bags and then I can finally relax.


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