In the interest of trying to become organized, I’ve created some chaos.  Okay… a lot of chaos.  My house looks like a tornado hit.  I suppose it matches the condition of my mind as of late, and I really hate looking at the mess.  I know it’s there – I don’t want to see it.

It all started when I hung some blinds in my downstairs windows, and the household projects have been spiraling out of control, with not much to show for it just yet.

It’s painful for me to go through my things and pitch and give.  Every time I moved I shoved the shit into boxes and hoped I’d have storage space to keep it all safe until the day came when I could face it all.  The day has come.

Time to sort the shit.

I think most of it can go to the curb.  Some might make another family happy.  Creating the piles isn’t the toughest part.  Every item holds some sort of memory for me.  Another time, another place…  That’s the hard part – which memories need to go?  Can I keep the good memories but toss the stuff?  Stupid things… like a Tiffany’s bag with an empty small blue box that makes me feel sick when I see it.  Trash.  And the mylar blanket that warmed my bones after my very first marathon.  Do I need that?  Really?  Like I have any chance at all of forgetting that very special day.

I want a simple, happy life, free of shit.

Toss it.  And only the most important things will remain…

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