After some deliberation concerning my newfound freedom, and what I might do with it, I decided that a declutter would be a good place to start.
To this end, I have spent the last few days trying to get my living space in order. I have cleared out my bookshelves, which has demanded that I grit my teeth and ruthlessly admit that, no, I probably won’t ever get around to re-reading X, Y and Z. As it is, my ‘to read’ pile is growing exponentially. Similarly, I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am unlikely to watch The West Wing all the way through again, nor will I ever spend another 24 consecutive hours with Jack Bauer. So, with a heavy heart (and even heavier boxes), I made a trip to the charity shop. I also have three bin bags full of clothes which, as good timing would have it, should be uplifted by The British Heart Foundation at some point tomorrow, and I have dismantled a desk that was, not to put too fine a point on it, in a pretty bad state of disrepair.
Today, I achieved the maximum chaos that has to happen before any tidying job can be considered finished. This peak on the disorganisation curve came when I (to my alarm) found myself trapped on my bed by a wardrobe and bookcase that had inched their way slowly across the floor. The ensuing ‘escape’ involved batting my way through many, many cobwebs…*shudders*…which have all now been clinically disposed of.
Anyway, tomorrow I plan to organise my voluminous stacks of study notes, as well as my art materials and drawings, after which time I should have just about accomplished what I set out to accomplish…my declutter should be complete…it certainly hasn’t been as therapeutic and cathartic as some people say, though!