Decluttering Obstacles

I'm hunkered down in my office, where I've been since returning from Mexico on Thursday, working on a deposition outline. It's slow going. Compiling my potential exhibits and drafting my questions is like wading through molasses. I have to keep reminding myself that, come Wednesday, life will once again return to a state of relative calm. Relative being the operative word, because actually April is shaping up to be a rather busy work month. Rather too busy for my tastes, I must say.

Oddly, the major thing I wish I was doing right now, instead of sitting in my office, is working on my room. About a month ago, I was suddenly hit with the all-encompassing desire to finally, once and for all, organize my existence. I had made valiant efforts at cleaning up the clutter in the past - purging - but they had been short-lived and stunted in terms of the scope of my goals. It's like, prior to a month or so ago, I couldn't really see the clutter that was surrounding me. It didn't bother me. I saw it as a positive personality trait: I was laid back, not anal, able to exist and focus in the midst of seeming chaos.

But, then a flip switched. I confess that I think it happened in part after I spent some time at the Italian Man's place. His place was so perfectly ordered and quite beautiful. His bathroom was sparkling and spotless, his kitchen was bright and airy, his bedroom was minimalist (the bed was - not surprisingly - the height of comfort). All of his furniture was nice wood, not a scrape in sight, and his apartment was decorated with striking pieces of art. In short, his apartment was put together and adult. It also was inviting and had nice energy. When I went over there the first time, I couldn't get over how nice it was, and I felt a little like a kid playing dress-up - pretending I was an adult in such an adult environment.

Then I started thinking of my place, and how, for the past two years, I had been living temporary states of limbo, first after I moved in to EXBF's place and had to give up my gorgeous studio and put most of my things in storage, and then after I moved in to my current place under an illegal sublet situation. In the beginning of March, my living situation changed for the better. I got to stay in my place as a legal tenant and because of how everything worked out, the management company loves me. Always good to have the management company on your side. In short order, I had the management company fix my shower and take care of the mouse that had been plaguing my existence. And then, just in time for Spring Cleaning, I threw myself in to ripping out the old, spackling, and painting (as some of you saw in my partial before and after pictures).

Since that switch flipped, it's all I've been thinking about. I've opted to forego drinks in favor of staying home and working on my IKEA wardrobe. Walking down the beach in Mexico, I felt a compulsion to be back home, getting my things in order. Last night, I dreamt about my furniture and how I'm going to organize my t-shirts and work shirts. And, now, today, while I should be focusing on this massive project I need to get done asap, I'm twitching in agitation, wishing I was back at home sorting my belongings into "keep," "toss," and "goodwill" piles. Twitching in agitation. I'm obsessed.

I have an obsession and work is keeping me from it. I feel like I'm chomping on a bit and can't go anywhere. On a positive note, I have made a lot of progress, and when I'm all done, I believe I will have transformed not only my physical space, but also at least part of my mental space. I think that's why I'm so obsessed. The curtains have parted and suddenly all I can see is how essential it is to make my environment mirror the calm I want in my mind. It's kind of cool - and very uncharacteristic of me - be obsessed about this. I'm excited by it.

Now, if only I didn't have to do this work... I have important things to do!