purge

I've lived in my house for three and a half years. I haven't lived anywhere for three and a half years since I was twelve years old. I haven't been twelve years old for twenty years.

Maybe that explains that weird drowning feeling I get every once in awhile when I look around at all my stuff. Maybe not, but that would be a wholenother issue. One for a professionally trained person.

Every one or two or three years for the last twenty I have packed up my stuff and moved somewhere else. Packing involves sorting and tossing and donating and cleaning. Those things make me feel all good and clean. Getting rid of stuff and organizing what is left serves as a colonic for my soul and ipecac for my living space.

I'm making it my mission to go through every room of my house and touch everything twice to make a decision whether to keep it or not. I'm almost done with the basement, but only because I decided not to go through the holiday decorations until the holidays are over.

I have unopened wedding presents (I was a child bride, married off in the '90s) that are too old and dusty to be regifted. I have baby stuff that no one would want because the laundered puke stains are starting to oxidize and resurface. I have empty photo albums, and full ones of pictures that will never hold much meaning. Old books with worms in the binding. Costume jewelry which will never come back into style. Stretched and pilled sweaters that I have only kept because they were aspensive. Dry clean only means dry clean only.

I have so many really nice wall pictures but I'm sick to death of them. Rearranging and rehanging helped, some. A few have gone down to the basement and I'll pull them out again in a couple years. Maybe I will love them again then.

Candle sconces anyone? I'm throwing out two today. I'm sick of them kicking around, and good candles cost too much and cheap candles burn too dirty.

I gave away a lamp yesterday. And my big fabulous faux fur (oh those poor, poor fauxes, always being slaughtered for their poly-nylon hides) jacket that I bought for the eve of the new millennium. I wore that sassy emmer effer into the ground. It was hilariously funny to wear north of Washington Ave, and the pinnacle of haute style south of it. Long live the memory and spirit of that big muppetesque monstrosity. Hail be to the seven inch by two feet of closet space that is now available in it's absence.

I know all you moms are envious of the total lack of toy flotsam in my house. Jake has plenty to play with, but it is pretty well contained. A lot of his stuff is donated to shelters and poor kids. He favors tiny cars over all else, and they don't take up much space.

If you need anything, let me know. I might have it. If I have anything of yours, let me know. I might throw it out.