Piles of stuff August 10
There are several workstations around my house. The office has a desktop computer and piles of papers. The hallway has a table and chairs and right now has piles of cables and wires. The kitchen table is a good workstation for drawing. But now I must clean up the piles of pictures so that we can have room for dinner plates.
When I have to do a ZOOM and look presentable I set up my laptop workstation in front of the large picture window. The natural light from that location is the best. Piles of notes accumulate there.
Right now I am sitting in Luke’s Lair. It is in the bonus room over the garage where our youngest son Luke slept when he lived here. I have piles of stuff, exercise equipment, art materials, several chairs, and a mini-tramp.
Where does all this paper and piles of stuff come from?
I must be a stuff magnet attracting more as I make more turns around the sun. Growing older and adding more items to pack around is not working. Despite my efforts to drop some things off the piles continue to grow.
There are two couples I know of, who live well with Parkinson’s and are dumping their stuff. All of their stuff; houses, furniture, vehicles. The husbands are fully on board with their Parkinson’s afflicted wives. One couple has converted a Mercedes Sprinter van and the other is purchasing a new pickup and an Airstream trailer. The plan is to live out on the road.
Different strokes for different folks.
I don’t want to get rid of my stuff. I want to come back to it.
I have been away from home for about 6 weeks at the longest. I lived well with one backpack. I didn’t need anything else. It was enough.
I am content. I am happy. I live in a great house. I have a super care partner in my husband.
My husband and I are at least 10 years older than these two couples. Unlike them, I do not need to get rid of all my belongings. I can travel to get away from my “stuff” and come back home to it when I am ready. Condensing the piles before I leave will fool me into thinking I don’t have so much.
I fall. I am stiff. My handwriting is illegible. I have poor balance. My right hand tremors. Sometimes my thinking is a little crooked. Most of the time I feel like I will live through the day.
With all I have collected through life, there is only one piece I would throw away for sure.
I have tried to ditch it in the past, it has found its way back to the piles around me.
It’s the belief that my work, my projects, my book, my narration, my drawings are not good enough. Although I have been validated time and time again, by numerous people, this disbelief is one piece of stuff that hangs around.
I can live with all the piles.
I am hoping that I can live with this one piece of stuff, though, until I am ready to let it go.