Last night I freaked out (literally, FREAKED OUT people!) because of all the crap in our house. I've been trying to root out things, probably due to the change in weather. I've been putting my sweaters and coats up for next winter, and thus trying to determine which are worth saving and which should be sent to the goodwill. Here is a delightful sampling my inner monologue:
"Do I want this wool sweater for next winter?"
"You aren't going to have a next winter Becky. First Africa, not too winterish, and then China after winter is over already. And then you will probably move somewhere really warm."
"But I got this for like ten bucks when I was working at the Gap."
"Well, is it really worth packing it up into a big box and hauling it to Minnesota to sit in mom's basement for a year and then hauling it back to wherever the hell we are moving to and throwing it out there?"
"Probably not."
Okay, well that didn't seem so hard. Except that it never stops at the winter clothes. Suddenly in this new mind-set, I look around our house and all I see is mountains of clutter. I look at the cool striped beach bag that I bought for about six bucks (shock of shocks, when I was working at the Gap) and then I think,
"Well, I should just send it to the Goodwill. It was only six bucks. "
"But maybe one of my girlfriends could use it. It's still in great shape. I could mail it to Katie with this Easter basket I've got going for Louise. But it will probably cost more than six bucks just to mail the damn thing."
"Won't she think its weird anyway, to get an old used beach bag from me?"
"Maybe I should just keep it. I'm going to be here this summer after all. I might want a cool beach bag."
"Or maybe I can sell it, and then I can use the money to score another, even cooler, beach bag when we get back from our trip."
"But wait, after seeing firsthand people who are dying because they don't have clean water, am I really going to want this stupid beach bag? These people I'm going to be living among don't even have a change of clothes and I can't let go of a fucking beach bag. How ridiculous am I?"
And then I have a meltdown. Like, flapping my hands around and crying and getting all flushed and aggravated. It sucks. I can't be mentally moving out of my house for the next six months. I'd really like to try and enjoy my possessions since it won't be long till I have almost none. But I'm constantly struggling with it. Its not even really an issue of getting rid of the stuff, its just where its going and trying to make value judgments on all of it in the framework of how I will want to live when I return from this trip, which of course is impossible because it is going to be core shifting. AUUGH! (I'm like a Peanuts cliche) Its driving me crazy and then I get frustrated with myself for being so...whats the word...umm, neurotic? Well, yeah. But who isn't, right? Right? Sigh.
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