ROOM FOR A PONY

It seemed inappropriate to write about clutter with that whole bombing thing going on in Boston. I was watching and re-watching the videos just like everyone else. Maybe not just like everyone else — I’m not sure. After a point, I made myself stop.

I think for a while we do it because we just can’t believe it, and we’re trying to digest what happened. But if we keep on endlessly, now we’re getting morbid. Like picking at a scab. Stop it! Time to do something constructive — how about getting rid of some of the detritus that has exploded out of our junky society and landed in our houses?

Having junk around makes me feel like I’m in a rubber raft trying to escape from a flood but I can’t get anywhere because I’m trapped on all sides by the flotsam. Nor can I help anyone else — both raft and self are rendered useless.

It so happens that I came down with a bad cold right when the Boston explosions happened. After the initial two or three days of comatose behavior, I started on small decluttering projects for short spurts of time till I wore out. Then I’d crash for a nap, and wake up and start again. It was the only thing I felt capable of doing. I may have gotten more clearing done in this last week than I have in the past year. Maybe my subconscious self was getting rid of the illness inside my body by ejecting everything in sight.  Lindi said, “You should get sick more often.”

I’m almost well now, and I love these clear surfaces! Away with piles screaming at me about undone tasks! (I’ll try to stick a before and after picture in later on. gotta go.)

Back to the bombing aftermath: A question always nags me after these things, and I wonder if I’m alone. At the risk of being too verbose, I’ll address it in my next post.