Do You Want To Die? A Question I am asking myself, every day, as I attempt to control the disease Diabetes.
I have never been much for organization. The world of lists, cubbies, and a place for everything, everything in its place has always been a bit of rigmarole to me. There are people who excel at it, surely, but I am clueless.
As a kid, if a class required a folder, mine would be three inches thick, crammed up with every crinkly, yellowed leaf of notebook paper I ever came within three feet of, requiring hours of forensic analysis to sift through the mess and retrieve anything useful. Or, my notebook would be completely empty, Spartan, devoid of even a smear of penmark, worthy of its giant capital red F in every way.
Now, it’s much the same. My house is an amalgamation of books, dog hair tumbleweeds, books, electronic equipment both defunct and obscure, books, children’s plastic things, and whatever detritus was left here by the many podcasts who come here to do their show.
I should be able to compartmentalize it all. I should be able to put this pile in this tupperware, and those doodads onto this shelf. You want thingamabobs? I got twenty! But I am helpless. If I clean one thing, it requires I dirty the next, and by the time I make the round, clearing the mess in one room, it has piled up into the next, because, in the end, there is just too much stuff in too little space. And no, we do NOT need more space!
I look at these piles of books and nooks and things with my ever-changing eyes and I want to burn it all to the ground. Not just because Bank of America continues to quietly try to steal my house, no matter the fact that we’ve always paid on time (oh, we see you coming, BoA… SATAN! You act like United Healthcare… have some decency!)
But I want it all gone. The books represent a life of quiet loneliness, studious hours spent reading and crapping, crapping and reading, laying in bed until dawn turning pages, living other people’s lives, drinking their dusty wines, bedding their weary wives.
No more. Reading has a purpose, but I have read quite a bit. Why do I need this arrogance, these shelves burgeoning with books, dusting up my home, providing nothing of value to my family, and silently reminding me of all the years I wasted, growing ever fatter each day, sedentary, but with a remarkable grasp of pop fiction English?
Books can go into mp3 files, and come with me as I take my fat ass on an exploratory excursion.
I live a mile from a great trail, never walked or rode it.
I live 10 miles from some of the best canoeing available in Florida, I never go.
I live by lakes, rivers, ponds, paths, woods, beaches, brooks, gullies, gulches, copses, clearings, and god knows how much State Mandated Parks and Recreationary…
And I have not been taking advantage of it.
Out and about, is what I’m about. Proof to follow here, as we continue to answer No! to the question…
Tags: books, clean, clutter, diabetes, organize, start fresh
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