browns boots, DKNY coat, zara skirt, CM blouse, vintage gloves|hat, gifted necklace
I spent the weekend mostly indoors, despite the glimpse of pre-spring weather we were experiencing in Ottawa. I think I left my house a mere half dozen times, mainly to purchase food, wine, magazines, bought a white 60s Danish-designed couch and had a meeting in chinatown.
I actually had the perfect opportunity this weekend to elegantly dispose of a whole bunch of shit in my life, speaking both psychically and materialistically. I made a deal with myself that I was going to minimize and get rid of everything that is not serving me a purpose and this was the weekend to pony up and make good on that deal.
It is in my nature to keep things. I like to stay away from the term hoarding, since it has such an ugly ring to it; rather, I like to consider myself more like a spider web, unable to let go of anything or anyone all that easily.
My habits have been analyzed many times over, and it all leads back to one simple reason. I have a BAD memory.
I need ephemeral and notes and pictures and reminders of all the things that I've said/done/thought/experienced/etc.
I hang on to a lot of things because I am afraid of losing the memory, and sometimes the lessons learned. I keep dresses because they remind me of nights spent dancing til dawn, notes on napkins because I need a paper trail and email correspondence to reconfirm why I made the decisions that I did.
I used to think that if I kept these pieces of my past, I could harness the happiness, nostalgia or even pain that I once felt and use it.... somehow. Or at least in the case of the painful memories use the memory to avoid repeating the actions that got me into such a situation in the first place.
But as everything starts to move faster, the pieces that I'm holding onto are actually dragging me behind; the pieces that once held so much emotional value are bogging down any sort of advancement that can be made. So, for 48 hours, I deleted, recycled, cut up, erased, and drop kicked all the unnecessary shit out of my life. And let me tell you, it was completely liberating to wake up and not give a single fuck about certain things anymore.
Sometimes forgetting is not such a bad thing. Sometimes forgetting is a just a sign of moving on.
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