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Grotto

Seasons

October couldn't come soon enough, if only to sweep away August and September, which are better left unrecorded and forgotten, oddly enough.

October will be the month I remember and celebrate, I think.

October is when I learn resiliency and preparation and sink my teeth back in for the firm grip I haven't had since I was making every week.

Tonight I have accomplished the three tasks I set for myself two months ago, before everything went to hell. I was trying to learn new habits and set up to track them, see how I managed. It took until tonight to tick all three boxes in one day.

Draw.

Move.

Find three donations.

I have the opportunity to build something of a new life - it's not like all that much has changed, but enough. Enough to create a psychological barrier between the before and the after, and reinforce the changing of the tale, the closing of the first volume and the open of the second story, and convince myself that I can break from what was.

Of the last goal: I find myself struggling. I know which things I never use - when I'm truthful, that category encapsulates most of my bedroom. I hardly ever go in there but to sleep, and half the time I sleep on the couch anyway. I knew, going through the massive paper bags of old tee shirts tonight, that most things in those bags had not seen the light of day in years and I would likely not wear them again, but - what to do with one of every iteration of the Texas State Longbow Championship annual shirt since 2002, care of my dad? The Japanese Garden festival shirts - multiple in 3XL which my mother bought cheap as a way to support the Gardens? The ancient University of Tennessee sweatshirt I have never worn which traced as a gift to my father from my grandfather, or the Academic Masochism shirt I haven't donned since my high school group assembled? How about the myriad shirts from my college's Gaelic Cultural Society, many of which I grin just looking at but which fit tentlike even back then and now billow wide as sails on me?

These items together take up at least a 3'x2'x1' space, which is absurd when I already have such risibly inadequate storage. I could seek out shelving to make more of the space I have, but the real need is to get rid of these things or put them to use, and while I have a few ideas about the latter for at least some things - apparently tee shirts make great produce bags, when combined with a pair of scissors - there are almost too many of these for even that to be a reasonable idea and not just an excuse.

I have four pairs of jeans I'm also retaining for the denim, for much the same reason. I had a great idea for a messenger/ laptop bag - something smaller and lighter than my massive, traveling-carry-on size business bag - but haven't ever had the time to put the thing together. That's nearly another cubic square foot of space, although a part of me still really wants that bag and everything it symbolized then and keeps whispering about a lifestyle that would make having it worthwhile....

I have dresses I've almost, or never, worn due to indifferent fit that I never got around to restitching for my frame. I have tee shirts in perfect size and condition, but which just make me feel frumpy; I bought and wore them by preference when I was trying to minimize myself to the outside world, to be invisible, during a relationship that made me feel that way - so that I would never be reminded how good it could feel to be perceived as desirable, and thus become malcontented where I was (ghastly little epiphany, that, but then we in my family excel at self-denial doublethink, and the undervaluation of our own happiness relative to commitments.)

Some of this is realizing I only have enough lifetime for a few pursuits, and struggling to narrow it down. Much more of it is simply struggling with the emotional shackles I have been given, in all these little gifts. I feel heartless disposing of possessions which people I care about wanted me to have. It's very hard not to feel the sentiment of the gift in the thing itself. I've had success with some possessions in photographing them, but many others - the combination of sentimentality and utility, even without any utilization, is very hard to resist.

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