Friday, August 7, 2009

Crap Summit

Whether you take that to mean a mountain of crap or a meeting about crap, it matters not. It’s all the same story and it never, NEVER changes.

I’ve mentioned the basement a few times here. Just for the record I should say that basements are great. Especially if you live in HELL like I do. It’s always a lot cooler down there and if it’s even a little bit finished you’ve got a place for the kids to hang out (read: Peace and Quiet for Mommy). So I’m not anti-basement or anything. I’m just against dusty piles of stuff. Stuff my kids will have to sort through (or straight away pitch to the curb) when we kick the bucket.

Mostly I clean the basement and it’s just a cursory, surface-level deal. It looks okay. I have to really screw my courage to the sticking place if I’m going further. It’s the desk mostly. Toys I can sort, organize, and pitch. The laundry room I could tame. The several bookshelves crammed with books I think I can handle. Even the billions of DVDs. But the desk scares the daylights out of me.

It’s full (I filled 3 large laundry baskets) of stuff. Some of it is truly important. Some of it belongs elsewhere, some of it probably could be useful if we had even the slightest idea how to locate it should the time of need arise. I think that’s my biggest problem. Where to put things that don’t belong to my realm. I don’t know what they’d be used for in the first place. I have no idea where Michael would want them to be if he actually needed to locate them.

So I ask, beg, cajole Michael to accompany me to the basement to put back what needs putting back, and to help me figure out the rest. But it’s always a fight because a) he’s got bigger fish to fry (this I wouldn’t argue with; he actually does), b) he doesn’t care so much if it’s not neat and organized, c) “It’s NOT all mine!”, and d) crap why is my wife nagging me? Not that he says that word. Never, never. He’s the actual sailor but I’ve got the salty sailor’s mouth to tame.

But I need his help because I don’t have the testicular fortitude to get rid of stuff I don’t think he’ll actually ever reach for. I could make calculated guesses, could gamble and come up the winner 99% of the time but when I'm wrong, I’m really, really WRONG and it usually costs us. And when you’re WRONG about tossing stuff you’re the first one to get accused of being WRONG the next time something goes missing. Whether you actually tossed it or if it’s just hiding under the rest of the crap.

I sound like an ingrate. I’m totally cognizant of the fact that this is all computer paraphernalia and stuff that at one time or another helped me get something accomplished. I didn’t have to know how it helped me or even what it was called. Michael took care of that. I get it. I GET IT. I do. But I just wish I could figure out how to live simply. How to know what really needs to stay, close at hand, and what can take a long walk off a short pier.

By the way, HELL been replaced by an entirely different weather system. It’s a beautiful night. Sweet breeze blowing and crickets chirping. I just had to do my writing outside tonight. I haven’t felt this okay in a few weeks. Can a person be a weather junky? I think I need certain barometric parameters in place in order to be me. That’s sort of scary.
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2 comments:

  1. I totally get what you are saying. I can decide what crap of mine to throw away but not Evan's. I'll ask him if I can throw something I think us junk or ratty or unimportant and it can put him on the verge of tears because it has GREAT significance. And then we have tons of computer stuff that just sits there but one day we might need or use. When we first got married we had boxes and boxes of.... nothing, they were empty boxes that stuff came in and we might need to send it back so save the box. *sigh... I do have to admit that he has gotten better. We don't save nearly the boxes we use to and he tries to condense his computer stuff or at least try to keep it better organized. And a few weeks ago he tackled some stuff downstairs in our basement.
    Cleaning would be a lot easier if we simply weren't attach to it by memories and experiences.

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  2. Oh. My. Gosh. The saving of empty boxes! My biggest PEEVE! I just had to stash many of them in his corner of the back "junk drawer" room in the basement because, well, you just never know. "It might be good to have" . . . Oh what I'd give for a raging bon fire and permission . . .

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So, what do you think?