Let’s clean up!
I’m finally going to start cleaning out my childhood bedroom tomorrow. I’ve been deathly resistant to this for years now, but it finally feels like time. Current (personal) zeitgeist: self discovery as sculpture. What will be left of me when I’ve finished my culling? (If nothing else, we know for certain the histrionics are here to stay!) Part of me is worried what I’ll find.
Why do this?
- All of my junk is just that: junk. I won’t know what’s worth keeping until I look.
- I have virtually never felt in equilibrium with my stuff, rather it’s always seemed to be the one calling the shots in our relationship.
Godspeed!