pallas_athena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pallas_athena) wrote2011-02-19 10:10 pm
pallas_athena) wrote2011-02-19 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
Shadowboxing
Right now I am not packing boxes.
I really should be, but I'm finding it difficult. I'd always thought of myself as the sort who could up sticks and move on at the slightest notice. It's a bit chilling to look around and realise that ten years have gone by and, without necessarily meaning to, I seem to have put down some roots.
There was one year when I was a music-college postgrad when I lived in a very nice flat-- one room, but big, with high ceilings, Art Deco touches and a dishwasher. The day after I moved in I discovered why it was so affordable: the downstairs neighbours were psychopaths, given to pounding on the door and screaming. Slightly later, I discovered the cockroaches. Or they discovered me; I forget which. I lived there for six months and didn't even bother unpacking; a small ziggurat of boxes lay between the sofa and the TV, to be negotiated around and occasionally jumped over. Moving out of there was pretty easy.
This is harder. I think it might be easier if I could pin down why. It's a tiny, messy flat in a neighbourhood I've always felt uneasy about even admitting I lived in. It's messy because, not knowing how long I'd be here for, I never properly schematised where stuff should go. Now there are several strata of oh-god-company's-coming-shove-the-clutter-in-the-bedroom, and having to actually excavate all the heaps I've been avoiding dealing with for literally years is freaking me out a bit.
I can manage, obviously. What is life but the management of a panoply of shit that freaks you out? If one of my friends were where I am now, I'd choose some encouraging loud music, shake them gently by the shoulder and say "You've got this. Go and be badass." A solitary beast such as I must know how to be her own best friend, and I think it's that skill that I need to draw on now.
So. I've got this. I shall now put on some loud music and go and be badass. Either the behind-the-sofa clutter or I must die tonight. (I'd draw my sword at this point, but it's in a box.)
I really should be, but I'm finding it difficult. I'd always thought of myself as the sort who could up sticks and move on at the slightest notice. It's a bit chilling to look around and realise that ten years have gone by and, without necessarily meaning to, I seem to have put down some roots.
There was one year when I was a music-college postgrad when I lived in a very nice flat-- one room, but big, with high ceilings, Art Deco touches and a dishwasher. The day after I moved in I discovered why it was so affordable: the downstairs neighbours were psychopaths, given to pounding on the door and screaming. Slightly later, I discovered the cockroaches. Or they discovered me; I forget which. I lived there for six months and didn't even bother unpacking; a small ziggurat of boxes lay between the sofa and the TV, to be negotiated around and occasionally jumped over. Moving out of there was pretty easy.
This is harder. I think it might be easier if I could pin down why. It's a tiny, messy flat in a neighbourhood I've always felt uneasy about even admitting I lived in. It's messy because, not knowing how long I'd be here for, I never properly schematised where stuff should go. Now there are several strata of oh-god-company's-coming-shove-the-clutter-in-the-bedroom, and having to actually excavate all the heaps I've been avoiding dealing with for literally years is freaking me out a bit.
I can manage, obviously. What is life but the management of a panoply of shit that freaks you out? If one of my friends were where I am now, I'd choose some encouraging loud music, shake them gently by the shoulder and say "You've got this. Go and be badass." A solitary beast such as I must know how to be her own best friend, and I think it's that skill that I need to draw on now.
So. I've got this. I shall now put on some loud music and go and be badass. Either the behind-the-sofa clutter or I must die tonight. (I'd draw my sword at this point, but it's in a box.)
If You need to borrow a Sword.........
Good Luck with the Good Fight - You can do it (Duffy Moon *).
* Very obscure childrens tv movie from 30(cough) years ago
Re: If You need to borrow a Sword.........
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Instead, I offer you this bit of cold comfort-- it does, eventually, become sort of bizarrely fun, because once you really start digging down into the lower strata, you find all this crap that you thought was long lost, and all the stories associated with it. SRSLY. I have found: the Rider-Waite deck you gave me in high school, a valentine ZRT made me in fifth grade, all of my My Little Ponies that I thought were hella long gone, the two transit passes I saved from Prague because they had excellent pictures, about eighty five letters from Jonathan, countless photos, and the flaming-arrow pendant I made in enameling class when I was fifteen. Among countless other things. I think in the end this whole process has been more than worth it, not just for the smug grown-up feeling of finally getting a portion of my merde together, but for all the stories I've unearthed.
I wish I were there to help you out with all of this! But instead I'm sending you highly organized vibes from across the Atlantic.
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I wish you were here too. Wishing you were here makes me feel ineffectual, but I find myself wishing it anyway.
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Perhaps a sound track of friends saying "Do you really need to keep that?", "Haven't you got enough of those?" and just tutting generally would help with getting rid of stuff you don't need. I dread to remember how many cables I made one geek friend throw out when he was packing to move.
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Procrastination is definitely the way forward. ;-)
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I can lend you a sword (rapier? Celtic?) to brandish dramatically as you plunge into the Stuff . . . . how long have you got before it needs to be done?
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Oh well, another time, another river . . .