Friends, if this image looks just like one I posted yesterday, it's because I never got started on my skirt alteration project -- I was paralyzed with anxiety after reading your comments, with predictions of time required ranging anywhere from 20 minutes to 3-4 days. Whom to believe? No, I think I'll just put this one on the back burner for a while. Anyway, I won't see Stephanie for a week.
I didn't so much as touch a sewing machine yesterday. The whole day is a blur, to be honest; I felt very off-center.
You're probably wondering why I haven't mentioned the Singer 201 that Nicholas (aka Rain) was supposed to give (I mean "loan") me last week. That's because we had to postpone the pick-up once again, but today I'm supposed to go get it for real. Where am I going to put one more sewing machine, you ask? That's a very good question and one I'll hopefully have answered before I bring it into the apartment.
Apropos of nothing, last night I watched a very entertaining screwball comedy I hadn't seen in decades, The Awful Truth, starring Cary Grant and Irene Dunne. Have you seen it? So funny, witty, and charming in a way that has completely vanished off the face of the earth, or at least off the screen. If you want to see what sophisticated light comedy used to be, watch this film, or anything with Irene Dunne, for that matter. Her type is no more. I hope I don't sound like a crusty old curmudgeon; is there any other kind?
For those of you still reading this stream of consciousness, I feel like I'm in one of those "big shift" periods of my life -- oh, not so big a shift that I'd stop blogging or sewing or blogging about sewing, but for a while now -- months certainly, though most especially since I returned from vacation at the end of August -- I've been feeling like I need to purge a tremendous amount of stuff out of my life.
If you saw what the inside of my bedroom closet (actually I have two) looked like, you'd probably run away screaming, which is precisely what I want to do every time I open it. Actually, it's reached a point where I can't even get the door closed, so I scream daily. Except it's more of an inner scream (don't want to alarm the neighbors, or the dogs), which manifests as lack of energy and a sense of feeling overwhelmed.
Do you ever want to get rid of things, regardless of what value (to others, or to you, once upon a time) they might have? I mean, I've found treasures in the trash and sometimes I think I should just put some of my own there and let other people find them. Of course, the term "treasure" is relative, but I do have many things cluttering my life that I really have no need for, and they take up a lot of psychic space as well. What to do?
I used to sell stuff on eBay on a regular basis and I enjoyed it, but the photographing, posting, weighing, packing, shipping is extremely labor-intensive and I no longer have the time, or care to make the time. Thrift stores (the ones that pick up at your house anyway) are extremely selective here in NYC. Many no longer want old electronic equipment, for example, and won't touch any piece of pressboard furniture, let alone wigs.
Readers, I think I need to make a plan, something I'm not very good at and resist. As you know, I generally just take things moment-to-moment, which certainly has its benefits, but also its downsides. It hurts to watch the planners get ahead and I live with one.
I will leave it at that. I was reminded of this old blog post I wrote not so long ago. As you can see, planning and resistance-to-same is a definite leitmotif in my life. It's always there and never fully resolved; hence, decluttering has its own listing in the MPB Archives (located on the right-hand column of this blog, as always).
We are out of time, alas. I must address my many organizing tasks and I hope I've inspired some of you to address a few of yours, if you have any.
In closing, do you think creative types are more apt to be surrounded by clutter -- or is that just an excuse?
Any great one- or two-year planners out there? What's your secret?
Have a great day, everybody!
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