Sometimes I see others’ fish lined up nicely in an ever ascending size. Yet mine are impotent and drying.
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I went home last night and cleaned. It wasn’t as much clean as let’s find things to throw away because two weeks ago, I threw away as much out as I thought possible. The problem being that as a 23 year old, I seem to have more ’stuff’ than an old lady with cats. My closets are bursting with shirts, dress, skirts, pants and purses and suitcases, while my drawers are buckling under the weight of shirts, tops and electronics. Somehow over the last few months, I wound up with a sizeable DVD collection. Every single drawer space in my kitchen is filled with some sort of box or appliance I’m never going to use. Seriously, why do I have all these cooking utensils that I use just often enough not to chuck out?
So yesterday, as I was talking to my mom on the phone (dad and I just had our customary I’m walking home from work so I might as well talk with you guys discussion about taxes and financial management), I scoured the house for any piece of semi-useless crap. Surprisingly, I came up with about 2 bags full. Pens from high school that I’ve never used. I have to admit I’ve a bit addicted to stationery and writing utensils. Nothing old was ever used at the beginning of the school year, and the only pens that I used for more than a week became my favorite until it died or got lost. Pants for mural painting that still have neon flecks imbedded all over. Old handbags from the Gap that suffered the same fate. Paper clips, thumb tacks and safety pins that never get used.
All of it got dumped in my broken purse, the one that my 14-year old cousin had bought me in November during my last trip to China. Yes, it’s sad that I’m trashing it, but the gapping 4 inch hole at the bottom wasn’t getting any smaller, and mostly it was just taking up space near my bedroom door.
I got home by seven p.m. and by the time Oscar called at 9:30 or so, I had cleared my apartment, changed the trash bags in my kitchen and bathroom, done all the dishes, put away all my clothes, scrubbed the bathroom with my favorite Clorox wipes, cooked dinner, ate and was contently watching Family Guy while picking through a photo album.
So far, I’m pretty satisfied. This could be the first sign that I’m sinking tragically into old-maid territory because honestly, who knows where this relationship will go, but at least I have a clean house.
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