Today, is a bit of a sad day. Woke up, let the time go by, and go to sleep again. That’s another day of this kind. I’m still working on my downsizing project. (Yes, still.)
There’s really have a lot of mess to sort out. How much stuff can a person have. Well, I guess maybe this is a part of growing up with less- I kind of grow up with the message “be prepared, store this, you never know when you’re gonna need it” and such. Store it, and you won’t have to buy it in the future. But what are glasses and mugs and stuff like that of use when you don’t have a house yourself? What use does it have to store papers with information you haven’t looked on for at least 5 years? What’s the use of having at least 120 pencils to write with? What’s the use of storing birthdaycards and their envelops from the last 10 years? Why are they so hard to throw away? Somehow, I kept them “because that person wrote it and whatever happens at least I will have a memory of that person, something he/she wrote”. Does that make sense? I’m, not sure. Everything goes in life, in the end. No matter how much you want something to stay, everything fades and leaves in the end.
Of course, there is no one to blame but myself: I’m old and wise enough to realize and decide myself, and I was old and wise enough ten years ago to be able to realize this – just for a long time, I just lived this detached life.
Stuff keeps shifting from place to place in my room. First it looked a bit orderly, now it’s one big mess again. I got rid of some things, but I’m not there yet; it’s not enough. Again another load of paperwork is ready to leave the house. A lot of papers from University – I don’t think they will of any use to me anymore, and I haven’t looked at them for at least two years. I wonder what to do with all readers of University, where all the descriptions and requirements of the courses I follwed are written in. Is it important to store? Should I keep it? (I guess not). As well, a lot of stuff that doesn’t really have a function, but someone gave it once to me and somehow it’s hard to throw it away. Its not stuff thats worth selling, and I don’t know anyone who I can make happy with it, but I can’t keep it. I just can’t keep it, and I don’t know what to do with. All I know, is that it has to leave me.
And here, i’m sitting again, surrounded by all these things. Piles everywhere around.
My head spins. I feel awful. The mess isn’t only in the room, it’s in my head too.