Tonight I went and stood down in the basement for a good long time. Yes, I just stood there. And looked at the pile of boxes in the corner that are creating enough visual clutter to keep me from actually making use of my studio down there. The jumble of boxes say things like "serious misl." and "Absolute CHAOS!" and "Is there ever an end to all of this junk???" and "You've gotta be fucking kidding me!!!" and "STUFF." I guess you could say that I started getting creative with my box labeling right before the big move (you know, the stuff at the end that you don't know what to do with...). Those boxes (some rather large) have been sitting in that same damp corner for the past 2 months. You'd think that, after that much time had passed, I just wouldn't need it anymore. But the truth is that I end up digging around, making an even bigger mess, every time I'm looking for something I can't find.
So I stood down there and stared at the pile and looked around at the sheer amount of stuff I have throughout the basement and thought about all the stuff I have throughout the house and imagined: "If I were moving far, far way--what would I take with me?" And then the trick is to get rid of everything else except for those items. Except, you see, it never actually works.
In the end, I failed to unpack or organize anything. I just came upstairs and sat down. Depressed. Looking at those piles made everything feel so futile. And now, several hours later, I can't remember what I wanted to paint in the first place.
and now look... my husband is making fun of me!