like a violent crime (calitetra) wrote,
like a violent crime


I might snow tomorrow. Weather widget said so.

My face is absuuuurdly broken out, no amount of mascara distracts from it. And I've had this tightness headache all day today. Horomones, I surrender. Please conclude your takeover with "hostile" taken out of the title. At some point, Blitzkreig ended and the Nazis were just kind of IN Poland, ya know? Let's get to that point.

As much as I've always looked down my nose at my mother's affection for keeping things, I can't help but feel I've inherited it. I endeavored to weed out my toiletries tonight and it became more of an examination of self than I would have liked. On the one hand, I was heroically chucking stuff in the trash without even flinching. "Take that, self-tanner I will never use! I am nothing like my mom, hurray!" But on the other hand, why do I have eight kinds of hand cream all at various stages of use? I feel wasteful for wanting to eliminate most of them, but isn't the real wasteful thing the habit of continuing to buy them?

This all comes down to the source of a great deal of my recent anxiety. I have stuff-itis. I'm going to try pretty soon to move pretty far across the country (not VERY far, but pretty far.) And I have to take my stuff. Which means I have to dramatically reduce the amount of stuff I have to make it a manageable amount to move without great expense. I've tried to observe what other people do when they make these moves. And I've seen that a lot of them got to leave stuff places. They left stuff at their parents house, they left stuff with their last roommate, they left stuff in places they used to live because they didn't really need them any more. And I...can't manage these.

First option, parents, is a reasonable one. I envy friends who do this. Their childhood rooms are still there, with their childhood stuff, available to them. My folks weren't into that. The things I wanted to keep as nostalgia, I had to reduce to eight boxes, properly labeled, and organized in a section of the attic. Everything else had to go with me, or be given away or sold. My childhood room is empty now, on its way to being completely redone as a guest room. As a person living with stuff-itis, my mom knows its symptoms and treatments well. I think that's where her urge to have me hoisting my own gear, as it were, comes from. This evening I negotiated agreeable terms whereby I might leave some of my larger stuff with them until I have real permanent digs. They're aware this might be years.

In hindsight, I took on too much furniture, too fast, too early. But how was I to know I would finally get the itch to move around? Most of the pieces I can part with willingly, hopefully through sale, but as the move approaches I'll just start giving it away out of desperation. But I want to keep the dresser and night stand set. They're so pretty, and I worked so hard to move them over and over already. I'd be sad to have to part with them.

I know I'm selling the bed. It never bothered me that it had been his when he and I were still friends, but now that that's ended I want it gone. I think it's time for a bed that hasn't been owned or slept in by anyone I've known. Or anyone period. Maybe, in my new life, I get a NEW bed.
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