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The Purge Gets More Involved
Mar. 9th, 2009 05:09 amThis weekend I filled two large garbage bags with crap that had been taking up my mud room (the room at the front entrance of my apartment). I emptied five boxes.
I never thought I'd find myself inspired by this process of tossing stuff and organizing what remains. It's probably boring on the surface, but it's doing something to me, something I like.
The more I organize my apartment, the more I come in touch with an empowerment. I enjoy the process, not just the results. I enjoy the freedom from revering objects I'd saved for reasons that aren't good enough anymore. I feel more in charge of myself, less a victim of my past.
This has gotten me ready for the most important thing: ramping up my job hunt. When I visited dear![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladymondegreen three weeks ago, I learned a lot about myself. She taught me lots of things including pointing out that I hadn't been emotionally ready to accept a real job hunt because I was still recovering from the old job. Now I am ready to spend my time on a proper job hunt.
It probably helped when my roommate said "well, it's been what, six months since you lost your job?" I replied "Seven weeks! Nowhere near that long." He then said "oh, then it's only felt that long."
The public rooms in the house are mostly in order. The mud room is a bright and cheerful library and cloak box. The living room, kitchen and bathroom have stayed clean enough the whole time. The dining room is functional although it needs another bookcase for my roommate's DVDs. The hall closet no longer has a rolling rack in it so coats can be hung in it. My bedroom is mostly functional, with the caveat of a giant pile of clothes and luggage that need to be sorted one last time -- what I've been calling the Modulo, because it winds up with the remainders from each sort job.
In a few days I will begin tackling the worst part of the problem: the back room of the apartment. When we looked at this apartment last February, my roommate and I chose our bedrooms instantly: he wanted the one away from the sunlight and traffic, while I was drawn to the windows and the view of the streetcars. The real estate agent described the apartment as having three bedrooms, but the third room clearly wasn't equal to the other two -- it's a walk-through to the kitchen. So we called it the Staging Area and it got full of boxes.
A friend came to the house on Saturday. His two-year-old daughter began calling the room The Scary Room and that name has stuck in my head. My roommate and I have been discussing which pieces of furniture in the rest of the house need to move so that we can break down what's in the Scary Room.
I'd go on, but I've been half-sick since Saturday night and I should've been asleep a while ago.
I never thought I'd find myself inspired by this process of tossing stuff and organizing what remains. It's probably boring on the surface, but it's doing something to me, something I like.
The more I organize my apartment, the more I come in touch with an empowerment. I enjoy the process, not just the results. I enjoy the freedom from revering objects I'd saved for reasons that aren't good enough anymore. I feel more in charge of myself, less a victim of my past.
This has gotten me ready for the most important thing: ramping up my job hunt. When I visited dear
ladymondegreen three weeks ago, I learned a lot about myself. She taught me lots of things including pointing out that I hadn't been emotionally ready to accept a real job hunt because I was still recovering from the old job. Now I am ready to spend my time on a proper job hunt.It probably helped when my roommate said "well, it's been what, six months since you lost your job?" I replied "Seven weeks! Nowhere near that long." He then said "oh, then it's only felt that long."
The public rooms in the house are mostly in order. The mud room is a bright and cheerful library and cloak box. The living room, kitchen and bathroom have stayed clean enough the whole time. The dining room is functional although it needs another bookcase for my roommate's DVDs. The hall closet no longer has a rolling rack in it so coats can be hung in it. My bedroom is mostly functional, with the caveat of a giant pile of clothes and luggage that need to be sorted one last time -- what I've been calling the Modulo, because it winds up with the remainders from each sort job.
In a few days I will begin tackling the worst part of the problem: the back room of the apartment. When we looked at this apartment last February, my roommate and I chose our bedrooms instantly: he wanted the one away from the sunlight and traffic, while I was drawn to the windows and the view of the streetcars. The real estate agent described the apartment as having three bedrooms, but the third room clearly wasn't equal to the other two -- it's a walk-through to the kitchen. So we called it the Staging Area and it got full of boxes.
A friend came to the house on Saturday. His two-year-old daughter began calling the room The Scary Room and that name has stuck in my head. My roommate and I have been discussing which pieces of furniture in the rest of the house need to move so that we can break down what's in the Scary Room.
I'd go on, but I've been half-sick since Saturday night and I should've been asleep a while ago.
