Rod and I are moving into phase II of the basement renovations – yea!
We thankfully got to the stage where I could move my treatments back downstairs thus reclaiming our living room space - yea!
But here’s the thing, in order for the reno to be done everything from the basement had to be temporarily stored in the laundry room. And it’s been driving me bonkers; bonkers I tell ya! I can’t stand it!
I can’t stand it that: visually it insults my senses to see mounds of things
We thankfully got to the stage where I could move my treatments back downstairs thus reclaiming our living room space - yea!
But here’s the thing, in order for the reno to be done everything from the basement had to be temporarily stored in the laundry room. And it’s been driving me bonkers; bonkers I tell ya! I can’t stand it!
I can’t stand it that: visually it insults my senses to see mounds of things
piled up taking up every inch of floor space and more – can not compute, can not compute, can not compute – I get overwhelmed.
I can’t stand it that: although I packed and organized for easy access, all the treatment supplies I would need til the job is done, in a logical order, when I go to look for them it seems that the deductive reasoning part of my brain that took charge of the operation has vacated the premises so the rummaging begins further compounding the problem.
I can’t stand it that: In order to do my laundry I have to: move a bazillion boxes on top of other boxes which were so crammed full that they can’t be closed so that everything ends up perched at precarious angles and just the wrong move: the shifting of a piece of paper, lifting of a pencil or a sneeze will set the wheels in motion for a domino-like kinesthetic event worthy of a Rube Goldberg machine.
I can’t stand it that: I hate bumping into things and even worse having things: run over my toes (my bike), come crashing towards my head (a shelf the size of a two by four) or hit my funny bone (my rebounder) all in a clumsy dance-like succession of steps. I become jumpy, irritable and tense.
I can’t stand it that: I get claustrophobic in tight spaces which makes me want to push things away from me physically, which happened to be the strongest PMS symptom for me (that is before I became post menopausal, a big yea!). Though some people would argue that it was my irritability, my mantra back then was “don’t touch me”, “get outta my way”, “Aaarrrrgh” or @#$%@$% in response to anyone coming near or placing objects beside me. So, if you think I’m bad now you shudda seen me then.
I can’t stand it that: I move quickly through crammed spaces til a clearing can be found roaring in frustration all the while (since I’m not a screaming kind of gal). So staying in the laundry room long enough to get anything done builds up propulsive tension in my body until I can’t breathe and my coiled muscles explode launching me out of the room with such a force as to scatter the cats (who are far more stressed that I) to the far reaches of the house.
After a few days of enduring this existence I began to wonder, “How do hoarders do it?” This is only one small room in an otherwise orderly home. How can they live in such chaos?
So I watched Hoarders one night.
OMG, seeing houses crammed with mountains of rotting stuff and witnessing the emotion driving the compulsion made me unbelievably anxious. So much so that it spurred me on to get back in there and get down to business. Since I’m in the process of redefining my practice and I’m still committed to clutter clearing 30 minutes a day, (how it all began) this is just what I needed to kick start me as I’d gotten stuck on clearing, responding to and organizing e-mails on a daily basis. Time to get down to the real nitty-gritty!
And I have been relentless. My motivating, “keep on track” question is, “how do I visualize my practice?” I imagine the space as I want it to be: peaceful, healing, spacious and uplifting. All non-essentials, items and info that no longer reflect who I am right now and where I’m headed; old baggage/history - no matter how fond the memories they induce, they are going. I don’t need them crowding up space anymore not only in my basement but also in my brain.
So, as I bid these things and outdated concepts adieu I say “thanks for the memories”; it’s time to move on.
____________________________________________________________________
Update:
COINKYDINK:
As you may recall I got obsessed with the word coinkydinky and decided to play the synchronicity game. I was to track any hints of the uttering of such word or connections to it for a week. The deadline for it to be considered a synchronicity or coincidence has come and gone – it was Oct. 23rd. Results no hits, yet other synchronicities continue to delight me.
I can’t stand it that: although I packed and organized for easy access, all the treatment supplies I would need til the job is done, in a logical order, when I go to look for them it seems that the deductive reasoning part of my brain that took charge of the operation has vacated the premises so the rummaging begins further compounding the problem.
I can’t stand it that: In order to do my laundry I have to: move a bazillion boxes on top of other boxes which were so crammed full that they can’t be closed so that everything ends up perched at precarious angles and just the wrong move: the shifting of a piece of paper, lifting of a pencil or a sneeze will set the wheels in motion for a domino-like kinesthetic event worthy of a Rube Goldberg machine.
I can’t stand it that: I hate bumping into things and even worse having things: run over my toes (my bike), come crashing towards my head (a shelf the size of a two by four) or hit my funny bone (my rebounder) all in a clumsy dance-like succession of steps. I become jumpy, irritable and tense.
I can’t stand it that: I get claustrophobic in tight spaces which makes me want to push things away from me physically, which happened to be the strongest PMS symptom for me (that is before I became post menopausal, a big yea!). Though some people would argue that it was my irritability, my mantra back then was “don’t touch me”, “get outta my way”, “Aaarrrrgh” or @#$%@$% in response to anyone coming near or placing objects beside me. So, if you think I’m bad now you shudda seen me then.
I can’t stand it that: I move quickly through crammed spaces til a clearing can be found roaring in frustration all the while (since I’m not a screaming kind of gal). So staying in the laundry room long enough to get anything done builds up propulsive tension in my body until I can’t breathe and my coiled muscles explode launching me out of the room with such a force as to scatter the cats (who are far more stressed that I) to the far reaches of the house.
After a few days of enduring this existence I began to wonder, “How do hoarders do it?” This is only one small room in an otherwise orderly home. How can they live in such chaos?
So I watched Hoarders one night.
OMG, seeing houses crammed with mountains of rotting stuff and witnessing the emotion driving the compulsion made me unbelievably anxious. So much so that it spurred me on to get back in there and get down to business. Since I’m in the process of redefining my practice and I’m still committed to clutter clearing 30 minutes a day, (how it all began) this is just what I needed to kick start me as I’d gotten stuck on clearing, responding to and organizing e-mails on a daily basis. Time to get down to the real nitty-gritty!
And I have been relentless. My motivating, “keep on track” question is, “how do I visualize my practice?” I imagine the space as I want it to be: peaceful, healing, spacious and uplifting. All non-essentials, items and info that no longer reflect who I am right now and where I’m headed; old baggage/history - no matter how fond the memories they induce, they are going. I don’t need them crowding up space anymore not only in my basement but also in my brain.
So, as I bid these things and outdated concepts adieu I say “thanks for the memories”; it’s time to move on.
____________________________________________________________________
Update:
COINKYDINK:
As you may recall I got obsessed with the word coinkydinky and decided to play the synchronicity game. I was to track any hints of the uttering of such word or connections to it for a week. The deadline for it to be considered a synchronicity or coincidence has come and gone – it was Oct. 23rd. Results no hits, yet other synchronicities continue to delight me.
NOTE: image by Richard X. Thripp
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