Letting go

So the other day at dinner, my mum asks me about all the furniture that I'm keeping in storage.

"Why are you keeping all that stuff? You're paying an extortionate amount to keep it there."

And I immediately answered "It's something worth holding onto."

Of course, she immediately jumps to the conclusion that I'm using the furniture as some sort of twisted shrine to SB.

".. why hold onto that? Let him go."

And then I get super annoyed and give her the crossest look ever.

"This has nothing to do with him. It's about chasing down a table that I took four months to find and ottomans which took six weeks to make. I have an unusual attachment to my furniture."

"I think you should just buy new furniture!"

--

Of course after a couple of days of thought -she's right. I'm paying so much money to keep it in a [big] box. Sigh. I may as well pluck up the courage and sell five ottomans, a table, a washing machine, an armoire, two vacuum cleaners, a mirror and.. close to a billion other things. It's going to be like wrenching my arm off and slapping me around with it. I don't even know where to start, do I just dump it in front of a second hand store?

--

But before that, while I'm getting rid of past things- I have been ignoring my papers for a good year or so.



And that's what it looks like when you don't have your affairs in order. The papers have just spiralled out of control. And now I have to sit down and fix it. I have to be a grown up and start putting things down, letting things go and sorting things out. Trust me when I say that idea is not sounding like much fun.

9:20

Well that took a much shorter time than I thought I would to compartmentalise my life in three boxes [and 1500 plastic sleeves]. And I feel oddly better and so much lighter, like I've stripped off layers of something. I wonder if I will feel the same way after my furniture is gone as well.