Another stressful shift. Years back, I’d go to some stores on the way back home to buy things to entertain me. Years before that, the liquor store. Now that I have some semblance of sanity about me, I know when those oppressive feelings obliterate any sense of normalcy, the last thing to do is binge on anything. These aren’t even the best times to row. It’s better to calm down and sleep. Row while calm.
I’ve been writing over 500 words daily and have started reading a minimum of one page daily; more if I get more time. Before every workweek, I shave my head to a 2″ length and prepare my lunches for the days ahead. It’s difficult to say “I’ll sort through one box per X” or “I’ll put one thing in the donate or sell pile per Y,” but it will be especially important in the next few months.
My dress shirts lay strewn across any surface to collect wrinkles because that was the easiest way to handle them. I did this for years and only over the past few days did it stew in my mind as a problem to solve. Just like any other clutter that accumulates, these problems aren’t because we own objects, rather, it’s that we don’t iron out proper space for those objects. They will accumulate wherever it’s easiest.
My fears are always lingering, like when we peer out from behind the curtains of our mind’s eye out into the void where an unknowable creature lumbers, and yet, where are they really? Is it in the truck that swerves too close into your lane because of the sharper curve in the road or because of the first rainfall in weeks? Is it the passerby that might become aggressive? Do fears have a physical address?
I’m happy with where I am and where I’m going. There is always more to do; more to build upon or chisel away. When I look around the apartment-mansion or look at my stomach, there is less of that overwhelming dread that I had with all this “stuff” weighing me down. I’d still like to lose more weight and live in a cheaper place. To get to both, I have to do subtle, frequent changes.
Since moving into the apartment-mansion, my standards for object acquisition have increased so much that it’s actually kind of weird when I buy something; my bank froze my credit card for “suspicious activity,” amounting to a few purchases after months of inactivity. Since you’re reading this in my future, where nearly two months have gone by since I sat in my car writing this, I’m probably still trying to figure out my standards for things.
Worse than participation trophies are the trophies we later collect to represent having done something solely for the purpose of representing that event. Sure, it’s innocuous enough to have an AT power supply with a note on it as some kind of fun representation of an event, but other than interacting with it for a curious second, it’s a waste of space, especially since it doesn’t even represent anything that positive, inspiring, or life-changingly worthwhile.