Really, I just needed needed some space. Really, I needed to throw away old socks and that really big pile of paper under the bed. It was supposed to be so simple, yet it turned into a call to action, a right to spring clean, a total fucking obsession.
My main goal was to get rid of excess clutter to open up some breathing room -- I kinda went overboard. I went through my jungle of toys, yes, but I also combed through my clothes, my closets and the dreaded Junk Drawer. I understand the need for the junk drawer, and de-junking it defeats the purpose of it's existence, but what can I say? I was on a roll.
First thing I did was buy a couple of plastic bins. These bins are sturdy, solid and mean. They serve as chests for my treasure, the stuff that's worthy of a grand showcase, yet unavailable for such treatment due to space issues. I have two closets -- these will go into Closet A, while Closet B will serve as the closet for real-life stuff, like mops and suitcases and tools I don't know how to use. I hate that closet.
Of course, I had to grab an extra bin for all the stuff that I will, sadly, get rid of. There was the immediate garbage bag for trash, another bag for instant clothing donation and then THE BIN OF SADNESS, for everything else that can either be thrown away, sold or donated. This bin is vague and in limbo. And probably won't leave my apartment until next Easter.
Make no mistake, it ain't something I wanna do, but the dawning of a new day is upon us and I'm really hyped up on coffee right now. Plus, those damn bins were kinda pricey SO I'M USING THEM.
Well, there it is.
I started out by dumping everything that isn't attached to a wall onto the floor. I then sat down and sorted the good from the bad, the literal garbage from the huge collection of dead pens and old movie ticket stubs. These, of course, aren't garbage. These are memories. There are pens from hotel lobbies we've stayed out, ticket stubs from great films I've seen and incredible shows I attended. They might be pathetic pieces of scrap paper to you, but to me? They're life. They're a recollection of my past. And I can never get rid of them or kick them to the curb and oh my God I'm never going to finish this shit.
Actually, doing this really sucked, but it was fun to rummage though all the debris I haven't even though about it years. A lot went into the "discard" pile," bit a whole hell of a lot more went into the "Never Leave My Sight Again" pile.
But I did it. Heaven above, I did it.
Donate? Sell? Melt down into a really cool bonfire? Donating it would be cool, where I can instantly get a free pass to be a dick for at least two weeks, where as trying to sell this much rubble would be staggering. I even think it would be rad to send it out to a lucky as a contest prize, but even then, the shipping along would destroy me. I'm entertaining the idea of throwing everything off a really tall building and calling it even.
Just...everything. There is no rhyme and reason to my buying habits, it's all madness and bizarre. Lobsters, chattering teeth, Micro Machines Chewbacca play set or something. I have no idea what I own and what I like and what I'm getting rid of anymore. Everything is hazy and I'm seeing double. The pressure to finally clean shop and the constant flow of dust into my lungs has put me over the edge! I hate crocodiles! There is no God! I want my two dollars!
That's where all the good stuff is. Securely locked away in the closet in it's own bins, festering and molding and radiating awesomeness. Even after all this straightening up, I still harbor three and half tubs of action figures and God knows what else. And this is just the stuff that can't fit anywhere else. Because there's other stuff. All over the place.
I can't say I'm not bummed. Not that I'm getting rid of all this crap, or am slowly starting to hide my precious cargo from prying eyes, but because, after all this, I realize I barely did a damn thing. It's the effort that counts, right?
There is a point to all this -- amidst the rubble, I've uncovered lost items and artifacts from my childhood. Seemingly meaningless, banal stuff, but really sentimental to me. It's hard to explain why, as you'll eventually see, but it's excellent blog fodder for future use, so I'm excited that intentionally wasted a Friday night wading in a mound of old receipts and bent Transformers.
But that'll have to wait until next week. I've got fourterrn more episodes of "Masters of Horror" to get through tonight, and ain't nothin' gonna stop me.