Having finished the latest draft of the book I'm working on, I've been filling up my time at home trying to "make space". The sheer arrogance of setting ourselves on par with deity is certainly not lost on me in that expression, and I squander precious moments contemplating, rather than getting to work.
I've found, down the years, that the "have you used it in the past year" trick can be a good rule of thumb, yet so far, it seems to be entirely outdone by the situation. I'm this close to Marie Kondo-ing it, but I'm afraid I'll realize nothing truly brings me joy (apart from the sea), and jettison this life I've somehow managed to cobble together. And that would certainly be no bueno.
I'm bound by the value I once saw in things. I'll keep a sweater I got as a gift ten years ago on account of the love, and how that made me feel at the time. I have a hard time, telling apart the love from the receptacle. Find it difficult, untangling myself from things.
Though the progress has been respectable, I find myself defeated by the mountains of things. When I got this bed, I thought the storage space underneath was a God-send, but it's somehow proven a devil in disguise. My rectangle of chaos. It doesn't help that I'm afraid to go digging under there in case the springs fail, and the bedframe crushes me. I dreamt the bed came crashing down, actually, among other things. I wonder what that means.
I get inexplicably attached to things. An old mug. A coat that once kept me warm. A set of ceramic cups I've never used, but I promised to save them when we were dismantling my grandmother's old house, so how can I now betray them, in return?
How do I go back on a promise, if you had your heart riding on me?
I find it a tremendously difficult question at the moment.
I am animistic to the point of unhealthy obsession, and imagine thoughts, wants and personalities in all things which surround me. How can I let you go, if you were once a soul, and I promised you something? Interestingly, I find letting go of people much, much easier.
What can you do?
Comes easily to me. About people, but not objects. Maybe this is just the rule I've imposed on myself for living. Leaving. The things that surround me, though, reprimand and hold me accountable in a way humans never have (and perhaps never will).
Throwing things away.
Letting go. Starting a-new.
All of this mountain of living, so alien and normal to me at the same time.
I'm well aware how much of myself I'm projecting into the objects that surround me, yet am not entirely convinced it's a bad thing. If we must find ways in which to survive, there are worse than these. Maybe, on the contrary, all that's been needs physical quantifiers, objects to be tied down in, otherwise it would continue swimming needlessly inside me, and how long till that sinks me to the bottom?
It's not an excuse. I know that. And despite all I say, I've managed to throw out admirable amounts of things. Sacks of clothes. Old boots that no longer walk. Two chairs. Thirty tiles. Torn bags. A thick coat.
All this stuff that, at one point or another, marked my life so acutely, but which turned out in the end, to be just ordinary things.
At the end of the day, I remind myself I'm making room for new life. For love in my house. That I can be a real person who lets go of old cups and torn jeans without losing my integrity, and all those other little things I still perceive as essential to me.
Are you, like me, someone who struggles with letting go of things?
And because it's Tuesday, it's as good a chance as any to say hi to 
God, what a mix.
This entire performance.
And beautiful Chelsea.
Enjoy.