I decided that I would only bring into the new place things that I need or truly want. No fluff. The rest will go away. What's hard is that sooo much of it is fluff. And it's all a mental game. So I have a collection of high heels. But I don't wear high heels. None of these shoes has touched anything but living room carpet. And I got rid of a few pair. But the rest . . . I like them, damn it. They're fiesty. Frankly, they don't necessarily need to leave home, if you catch my drift. But because the well is dry, they just sit in a closet like a whole other personality. Harrumph.
I did bring some stuff to the soupy apartment. Shoes I know I'll wear, fabric, some kitchen tools, bedsheets, blankets, winter coats. But then I stopped. I came back to the current place, sat on the couch, and stared around me--pretty much for the rest of the day.
I feel like my fork in the road offers three paths:
- Just fucking take it all with me
- Just fucking take it all to Goodwill
- Get a small storage unit for a month so I don't feel so overwhelmed
It doesn't help that I'm sleep deprived and stressed at work. I'm just moments way from sucking my thumb and lying in a fetal position under my table.
I should go read a book.