|The day after.|
Enough of that. One of the dangdest things about getting older is when ideas/notions/suggestions you have long rejected begin to make incredible sense. And I'll just be positive here, apologies to my comrades-in-bummerness, but I am glad I am seeing it now. The ah-ha! for me continues to be stuff. Holy moley. For the longest time (say, up to now), I did not care nor pay any heed to how much stuff I had accumulated. Folks would say, "Wow. What's going to happen to all of this when you die?"
For years, in SallyAnneFantasyLand™, the thought was "Get lost! All this fabric will be used, patterns used, wool knitted, books and magazines read. All the objects will be more comfortably dispersed in my country home(s). Stop judging me and find something else to do." As I mentioned yesterday, I see that time, while there is some left, is getting shorter. All of these things will not be accomplished. Moreover (oh, that word felt good!), carting around all these thoughts, dreams, schemes, plans, and even ideas about myself prevent me from being fluid and flexible now and in the future.
And, just for those yet to see the sanity of this, digging out is painful and time-consuming. I realize the disparate aspects of psychology, consumerism, history-lust, etc, that have brought me to my personal stuff zone, and I am trying to be chill and kind with myself. But shit, there's a lot to do.
So, for all of you dear friends who were worried about what would happen if I ever moved again, I am working on making that less of an onerous task. And I am trying to focus on the things I love love love and want to be able to see and enjoy more. Less visual noise. More calm. (Well, not too much.)
And now we return to our regularly scheduled programming.
i'm trying my best
to dance dance dance ...