Cleaning Up

You guys can probably guess by now that when I get obsessed with something I get OBSESSED. This week I have been consumed by an obsession.

This is not some book review and I don’t know the author of this book. But I just have to talk about it. I read this book on Monday called The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo.

 

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I have read a few books about cleaning and organizing. I am actually one of those people that likes to clean. And I love waking up to a clean apartment.

I also have no issues with tossing things. I am one of the most unsentimental people I know. In short, I did not think the book would really do much for me.

But, the book sounded interesting. And it was short and relatively inexpensive. So I bought it.

I completely fell in love with it. I have not read any other reviews of her or other blog posts so I can only speak to my own experience. The author is a professional organizer in Japan. She calls her method Konmari. The Konmari method is a way of interacting with your stuff I had never considered before.

Like I said, I am great at getting rid of things I don’t use. Especially when it comes to clothes. If I don’t like something, or it stopped fitting, or the cut doesn’t suit me; it is gone. I do not hang on to outfits in case I lose weight or anything like that.

But the Konmari method is not about what you don’t like, it’s about what you love. What brings you joy? And I had honestly never considered that before.

I mean, I love many of my belongings. But there were, it turns out, even more that I did not.

I have spent every single day this week after work going through my things. And by going through, I mean taking every single, solitary thing I own and touching it, thinking about it, deciding if I loved it.

The first day I did clothes and books.

And you guys know how I feel about books. I had three books shelves all double stacked on each shelf. With books wedged in between the top of the books and the bottom of the shelf above it. Also, there were more stacked to dangerous heights on top of each shelf. I love books. But, it turns out I did not love all the books I owned.

The first day (Monday) I got rid of ten boxes of books. So many that I now only need one book shelf. And nothing is double stacked anywhere.

 

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All the books I gave away. I hope they make someone very happy.

 

I also got rid of two trash bags of clothes. And when I say ‘trash bag’ I don’t mean some 14 gallon kitchen garbage bag. I’m talking about those big black yard waste bags. I also don’t fill them halfway full so it is a manageable weight like a responsible person. No, I wait till it is crammed full. So full I can’t always even carry them by myself.

I got rid of more than half of my clothes.

At first glance in my closet I panicked. I mean, it looked nice but what did I even have left to wear? Then, I looked closer. I realized that all the clothes I had kept were the ones I wore. Like, the only ones I even bothered to wear, ever. I would be fine. And I have been so far.

The next day (Wednesday) I did papers and jewelry. I have a cedar chest, like those old timey hope chests, and mine was just filled with paperwork. I had old notebooks from high school crammed with stories. Old journals. Every medical document from the last 10 years (and believe me when I say there was a ridiculous amount of those).

 

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My first day of giveaway.

 

I ended up throwing out an entire trash bag just for paperwork. I had three grocery bags of papers to be shredded.

I have to stop for a second to tell you guys that when I took my papers to work to shred I carefully went through them. Luckily. Because I found my birth certificate. I didn’t even know I had that. I thought it was lost forever. Apparently my mother had sent it to me, without notifying me, mixed in with a bunch of unimportant school work.

I also found my living will. Another document I didn’t even realize I still had. And finally, I found my car title. Something I thought I had lost while I was homeless for three months.

I was pretty happy I went through those papers before shredding them.

The final day (Thursday) I went through my closets, craft tables, and kitchen. Marie Kondo recommends doing all this in less than six months. I did it in less than a week.

What can I say? I’m an overachiever. And I really did not have THAT much stuff. Considering.

Now my apartment looks amazing! It’s transformed. It’s so much cleaner and uncluttered and gorgeous. And I love every single item in it.

But, the best part is how much better I feel. It’s no exaggeration. I had so many things I was holding on to. I had things I had kept out of guilt or obligation. I just let all that go. It was like a weight was lifted.

No more drawings from old friends that I didn’t talk to anymore. No more bullshit trinkets that people had gifted to me. No more junk drawers. It feels amazing.

And here is the grand total at the end of all of this:

I got rid of 7 trash bags of giveaway to the thrift store.

I also had 6 trash bags of actual trash.

I had 10 boxes of books to give away.

I shredded 3 grocery bags of papers and CDs to be shredded.

I got rid of 2 bookcases.

I am not saying this is something that will work for everyone. I’m not saying this has solved all my problems in life. But I am so much happier now. I am so glad I read this book.

Has anyone else read it? Does anyone have an experience with a ruthless overhaul of their living space?

Physical Therapy

You guys know I am pretty open on here about everything. I mean, I talk about my vagina. All. The. Time.

 

And puking. And having sex. And even peeing myself.

 

But there is one thing I am still pretty hesitant to talk about. And that is pooping and farting. I’m actually blushing just typing those words. I don’t know why I am so weird about that and apparently nothing else. It would make more sense for me to be shy about some of those other things.

 

My sister J loves to talk about those two subjects. And I do for her sake. Pretty much constantly. And it doesn’t embarrass me to do so with her. But with most other people I shy away.

 

So I have been putting off on telling this story for over two years.

 

You guys probably remember me falling down the stairs and hurting my back.

 

Well, the first thing I did. After having an allergic reaction to my steroids and staying the night in the hospital. Was to go see a physical therapist.

 

I had never been to one before and had this idea in my mind of what it would be like. Based 100% on movies. Which are really the best thing to base everything on, right?

 

So, if movies taught me anything it’s that my physical therapist would be a sexy but tough woman who would help me learn to walk again. She would be firm but fair. I would be in intense pain. We would fall in love. Cue to me haltingly taking my first steps into her open arms. End film.

 

Turns out my physical therapist, J, was a very attractive lady. Who was happily married with two kids. Also, she was maybe five feet tall. For those of you that don’t remember, I am six feet one inch.

 

So I meet her and explain about how I hate people touching me. As I do the first time I meet any doctor or person that has to touch me for their job. I like to set the right tone in my relationships.

 

J takes me back to one of the therapy rooms and does an examination of my back and has me bend and stretch and do all sorts of things. Just to see what I’m about. And what I am about is that I do a lot of yoga and she said she was impressed with how flexible I am. For my height (whatever that means).

 

She has me lie down on this little bed that looks like a weightlifter’s bench. And she’s telling me what she wants to do to help me with my back and my pain and all.

 

I’m cool with it. So I tell her to go ahead.

 

She reaches under me and kind of wraps one arm around me in an awkward way. Her hand is directly beneath my spine. My arms are crossed over my chest.

 

With absolutely zero warning, she throws herself down and kind of propels herself onto me. She was like a tiny WWE wrestler trying to take me down.

 

Two things happened at once.

 

She knocked the wind out of me. And…she knocked the wind out of me.

 

I farted. So long and loudly that there could be absolutely no mistaking what had just happened.

 

Despite my extreme mortification, I also immediately started laughing. Because I am an immature child.

 

She was very mature about the whole thing and pretended to not realize what I had just done. So she stood there over me, arms crossed. Patiently waiting for me to stop.

 

But I couldn’t. This was our FIRST meeting. I had known her for all of 10 minutes. This physical therapy was not going as planned. But most things don’t.

 

After a solid 10 minutes of me laughing so hard I couldn’t speak, my eyes filled with tears and my face getting redder and redder. I finally stopped.

 

She had barely cracked a smile. I don’t know how she managed it. But once I finished she just kind of nodded and said “Shall we?” And got back to it.

 

I saw her every week for over a year and she was kind enough to never bring it up. Ever.
And I did my part by making sure that little incident was never repeated. Ever.