Fresh Hell

I’ve been taking time off work and clearing out my back room, previously the place for crap, soon to be reborn as a cute office. Looks like I’m not so good at the updating when my schedule breaks down. But I’ll learn how to keep up… eventually…

 

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Cleaning up my room

Eliminating excess

Why does it feel so good

To get rid of stuff

And why do so many people not feel the same way?

Here is an item

Every time I saw it

I thought how ugly it was

A relief to not have it polluting my sight.

This thing

Itchy, uncomfortable

Thank God it’s being given away.

And here

A depressing reminder of abandoned ambitions

There

Grief-inducing mementos of lost loved ones

Old magazines? Guess what? I’m off the hook

I don’t have to read them.

They’re full of garbage and I can live without that data in my head.

I’m never using this warranty

I don’t like that photo

This drawing always bothered me

Who am I keeping it for? Posterity?

Nobody gives a shit about this shit painting.

I shouldn’t curse the future with such light-lacking things.

Nobody wants my garbage

Even I don’t want it.

 

How can anyone delight in having so much stuff?

They fill their houses with it

They get bigger houses so they can make room for more stuff

They are afraid to part with a single item

And if they do

They don’t forget about it

They really regret it forever.

Perhaps they are so beholden to their own identities

So shackled by the past

They cannot release a single newspaper.

The thing that makes me feel so free

Makes them feel unstable, lost

Freedom is instability

I suppose they can’t handle freedom

Because they have no faith in their own ability to handle it.

I don’t know much about hoarding

I’m a reverse hoarder

I’m a minimalist.

But I have a strong support network

And I have confidence

And I am lucky to not have

Such consuming fears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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