We are on a cleaning kick lately -- the first round came when we put one of those ductless air conditioner splits in our bedroom, and we had to move the bed and tidy things up for the workmen. Holy crow we should move the bed more often -- there were probably 4 cats worth of fur wadded up under there and clinging to the baseboards (gross, I know). But, we cleaned up the nightstands and the bookshelves, and the assorted clutter that just accumulates at astonishing speeds over not a whole lot of time.
It looked lovely after the clean (and the air conditioner thing is AMAZING -- living in a cape cod you're basically sleeping in the attic, so even with central air it never truly cools down...but now it's gloriously chilled upstairs), but we didn't feel an overwhelming need to attack further or attack other spaces, even though "purge the things" is on our summer list.
But then we went to see a house on Sunday (more on that later), and there's something about a house staged for showing that is just so CLEAN and so UNCLUTTERED that inspired us, if not to buy the house, then to go home and organize and purge and pretend we live in a tiny house. It doesn't feel that far off, even though our home is at least four times the size of a tiny house at 1600 square feet. I have a bit of a tiny house obsession.
So we attacked the bedroom and the closet some more, and in doing so I had a moment of, "WHY are these out and taking up so much of my bedroom bookshelf space?" when I saw all of my "how to deal with infertility and adoption" books taking up at least 18 inches. Pretty much all of the infertility and adoption reads on my sidebar still lived there, along with a few related memoirs, which I moved down to my memoir shelf. (Yes, I have a memoir shelf.)
Taking them off the shelf was so freaking freeing, as was pushing the stack over so they toppled across the floor and acknowledging all of the hope and pain and work and fruitless toiling that went into buying and reading (and rereading) all those books.
I stuffed them in a drawer in the nook, where I can't see them but they still exist, because I'm not quite ready to let them go completely, but they no longer deserve precious shelf space. They reflect a version of me that doesn't exist in quite the same way anymore. They are part of my whole, part of my ever-evolving story, but I just don't want to look at them anymore.
It's amazing that this grieving process just keeps going, at its own pace -- I could have never cleaned out that shelf at any time last year, it just wouldn't have felt right. But now? It was just the right time.
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