messes

The last few days I have been exploring the city, frequenting used books stores and laying on the beach with the skyline behind me... after work, that is.

Work hard. Play harder.

Monday is my scheduled day off and I spent all day yesterday spring cleaning before heading out for a nightly adventure to a new part of the city. While my idea of cleaning didn't necessarily involve dusting, it did involve completely gutting my junk drawers.

I'm a pack rat, not to be confused with the rat pack, whom I also happen to be in love with (namely Dean Martin), so I can see how it could get confusing. I save everything. Don't get me wrong, I don't belong on Hoarding: Buried Alive or anything (although denial is the first sign), but I love a good tangible memory of any kind as much as a photograph or a home video.

Over the years, however, I've learned the importance of... how do I put this nicely... not saving everything. This revelation occured to me when my family and I moved my grandmother out of her condo and into my parents home just a few years back. It was then that I realized where my desire to save everything came from... and it was then that I realized I needed to start throwing things away... especially if I ever intended on getting old and moving from one place to another.

That said, I love my grandma... mommom, we call her, because it's my mom's mom, but it was no easy task trying to get her to get rid of things.

As I was cleaning out my room yesterday and thinking about my grandma, I came across some old journals, all of which will remain something that I will never throw away, I don't care what any shrink or psychiatrist might say.

As I was skimming through journal entries and random drawings, I came across this one "poem" (I guess you would call it) that caught my eye and thought about how funny it was that I would find a writing such as this on a day when I was cleaning things out.

I thought I'd share it...

.........................................................

10/3/08

Everything is a mess,
My head.
My room.

I can't keep up,
My thoughts.
My laundry.

None of it goes away.
None of it ever stops.

I try to hide under my pillow,
My thoughts follow me.
My room waits for me to come out.

Just breathe.

Look over.
Close your eyes.
Go back to bed.

Just rest.

It's not over,
But it doesn't have to start,
Not now.
Not yet.

Just wait.

..........................................................

It's funny because I don't know exactly why I felt the way I was feeling that day. I didn't journal about it, the only memory I have of it is this short "poem." I imagine I was laying in bed and rolled over to go to sleep shortly after writing it, as I often did when feeling down.

I guess I just really liked this when I found it because it was when I was cleaning, organizing and weeding out all of the junk, not only in my room, but in my head. I was able to look back on something and say "Wow! I've come a long way!"

I've still got a long way to go, I think we all do, but we should never let that be a reason to minimize how far we've come.

Thank you, Lord, for exploring, used book stores, sandy beaches and a job. Thank you for spring cleaning, Dean Martin, my grandma and for bringing me to this point in my life where I can say "Wow! I've come a long way!" There were times when I thought I would never be able to say that.

Thank you, Lord, for helping me out of the messes I have made... that time, this time...


and next time.