My productivity has been incredibly high for an unprecedented period of time. I’m still feeling the sluggishness of Life with its rainy days and food binges and emotional curves and late nights.
I’m getting a shitload of stuff done.
And my brain is remarkably clear. It still spins, but it gives the illusion of being manageable, at least for the present, and it couldn’t come at a more appropriate time, as pressures at work are high and my responsibilities are enormous.
I don’t think this is usual for me in March. Usually I’m in a funky-funk.
Things start to make sense as I tear through my clutter and toss, organize or redistribute my stuff. Less stuff = more clarity. (I shouldn’t make it sound like my house looks largely different yet – it doesn’t.)
But last weekend I recalled an old bookshelf in my garage that was waiting for a garage sale or a charity, and I looked at the three boxes of books in my study, still unpacked from the move 1 1/2 years ago, and I thought, “Why not?” So I dragged in the bookshelf, cleaned it up, and each box of books unpacked beautifully onto each of the three shelves.
So now I’ve accomplished three things: I cleared the garage of a piece of useless furniture, I provided a home for my books, and I got rid of 3 ugly boxes in my study.
I can’t imagine what I was thinking before.
My task list in Remember the Milk has undergone a transformation this week, as the fog lifts and my mind relaxes enough to group things logically and focus on the things that are truly important to me. Intricate simplicity.
Maybe I’m not numb, after all. Maybe this is the quietness of a Life without constant chaos. And in the quiet, I’m finding order, balance, and reason – things I’ve been looking for since I was 5.
I’m afraid to breathe, for fear the illusion will disappear like a puff of smoke.