I know I have a problem with seeing THE BIGGER PICTURE. As I go through the house, I’m constantly hung up on what’s left. There’s just so much, I can’t see the forest for the trees. So I look at everything that’s left and think, oh when will it fucking end.
I did some chores today. Not a lot, not enough, I think.
Of course, there was the regular stuff. I started with an hour long workout after my morning post(s). After I put the laundry in, I made a quick run out to the grocery store to pick up some chicken tenders. Once I was going to be home for the rest of the day, I slapped some pink dye in my hair.
Then, it was time for some more of the bigger shit to be taken care of. I packed up the latest eBay auctions, as well as the one that will sell on Tuesday or so. I swept the stairs and upstairs landing. While I had the broom out, I used it on the front entry’s ceiling. It’s been peeling for a couple of years now, but over the last six months it’s like every bond has failed between the last layer of paint and the previous one. Since the cats’ crate came in an enormous box, I wrote
FREE!
in big giant letters on one flap and left it on the curb. I filled it with a random assortment of shit that would probably be thrown out on Tuesday night anyway. I took pictures and put an antique dresser and commode up on Facebook, as well as a nice media shelving unit.
However, aside from the box of shit, everything is still in the house. I can put as much of this bullshit up for sale, but unfortunately, I feel like I haven’t actually done anything until it’s actually gone. There’s no concrete evidence anything’s been done because it’s all still here.
So, until it’s gone, I feel as though I may as well have done nothing. I did something, but not enough somethings to make any headway right now. I’m capable of doing better.
I need to walk around the house and just throw shit out. There’s stuff I see and think “I could sell that on ______” when I know damned well it’s not worth it. Additionally, I’m becoming that person I didn’t want to be when this all started. I don’t want to be someone who can’t throw stuff out because I would feel bad and someone else might want it. Some things are still here because I feel like I can’t bring myself to throw them out.
Like, can I even play the ukulele? No, not with any particular skill, and I can’t sing worth a damn. Do I need a glittery pink uke? Then why isn’t it outside on the curb? I threw out some sketchpads last week. They weren’t anything I was very proud of, but it was still difficult. I have two spiral-bound notebooks, both journals. They should also be tossed. There are literally no reasons for me to keep either of them.
It’s hard to see the forest for the trees especially when there’s trees fucking everywhere. It’s harder when there’s fallen trees that can’t move, and good lumber hidden behind it.
If that makes sense.
But slowly, over time and if I step back, I can see that there’s less than there was. A couple of weeks ago, I updated the lists on The Great Sort. I was surprised to see how much was done and gone compared to the beginning.
Work is improving.
