I started going through the boxes for the rummage sale, reminiscing about the old computer games, books and stuffed animals. I was making stacks of what I would salvage and what I would send off to someone else’s pile of acquired useless junk and all the while Odessa is waxing closer and closer to unconsciousness. By the time she had fallen asleep completely, I am looking at this unorganized mess our living room has become, and I can’t work up the energy to continue the project. It occurs to me that this is how I live my life: one unfinished project after another, boxes of intentions and motives unsorted and unsettled. Meanwhile I know that all this junk piling up in the apartment is oppressive. There is just too much furniture, too many boxes of junk to sort through and to figure out and nowhere to put any of it.
I just can not get motivated to do anything I would like to get done. I know I feel like this sometimes, completely disconnected from real life, tired, anxious, wrapped up in the fictional worlds of television series and novels. It has gotten bad before. It has gotten to the point where I felt like I was not even living my life but just biding time until I could get back to reading or watching… whatever. The warning signs are all showing up lately, but I am either unwilling or unable to change course. I need to sort through this emotional garbage, to figure out why, all of the sudden, my insomnia and anxiety attacks are increasing, why I am zoning out in conversations, while I am watching television, even at work. I need to make a change of some kind.
I need to salvage what I can use and let everything else go.