And I'm not talking about the accumulated mass of my stomach, hips, thighs and buttocks. I'm not talking about carrying Ivy either. I'm talking about more of a mental burden - which is also physical. I have been looking around my home and there is ... stuff ... everywhere.
Things I'm forced to keep due to sentimental value.
Things I'm forced to keep because it's a little piece of information that needs to be kept or filed or shared or whatever.
Things I'm forced to keep because, well, what if I need it.
Things I'm forced to keep because I can't say no. And when I do, my 'no' doesn't get heard or validated.
And living in such a confined space, it gets cramped and cluttered pretty quickly. I've come to realize that maybe all this clutter is keeping me from doing what I need to do. It may seem like I'm placing the blame - but I'm not. It is entirely my fault. It's something that I have to deal with. But when I go to clean up, I get overwhelmed. The task is too daunting. The things evoke memories or plans for their use. I tried this today. There's a box under my bed that has things I don't really need and all I could do was look through the stupid thing and put it back.
Junk - 1; Lena - 0
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