Sorting, Organizing, Etc.

This past weekend, I started small-scale organizing. I began with the bathroom cupboards. You wouldn’t think that’s an emotionally daunting task, but it is/was/is/was. Whatever. Yes. One corner had Bryan’s contact supplies, some cologne he never wore. I went through like a small cyclone. The third drawer down by the sink, emptied of beard trimmer and accessories, now holds hair ties and clips. I hate everything about it and know it’s time and necessary. I keep telling myself, every hard thing I don’t do is something someone else will have to. Early July, there will be a yard sale. I’ll give more details as that nears. I keep plugging away at shredding and sorting and donating.

This sense of “doing” something stems largely from the feeling of helplessness. As I look at and experience (what I consider awful) cultural whiplash, I find a gift in the act of menial tasks once again. And I also look for the lifting of weight because much right now feels so heavy.

I’ll be selling my piano, too. The last time I played it in earnest was on January 6th, 2021 when I plunked out to the best of my abilities “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” I was angry and disgusted with what I witnessed happening at the Capitol. I remembered my mom sorting through her feelings often by playing the piano. It’s what I had in the moment because I didn’t even have words. This past week all those convicted for what they did that day have been pardoned. I’m sickened. And I need someone with a stronger heart than mine to plunk out the chords.

Sitting here thinking about how to streamline things, make them neater, simpler, throwing off ballast and battening down the hatches, I am determined. The process isn’t fun. It isn’t easy. It is, however, necessary.