Sometimes you start a project, knowing it might bleed into another, but you start it anyway. How bad can it really be? you think nervously. The question really is, how LONG have you been putting this project off? Take the answer, multiply it by heaps of sweat, dirt, and elbow grease, and that is how hard it will be.

My project?

The closets, and the cupboards. Not just one, ALL OF THEM. The writing materials were in the jewellery stuff which was loitering below the wine glasses, which really should have been with the other glasses, which leads me to believe that perhaps bowls should all be in one place too, not just divided by salad bowls vs. everyday bowls, and why is there a bag of googly eyeballs in here? Where should that go?

You see what can happen when you think about moving one small bit of things?

In order to house the bowls, I had to move the cooking oils. In order to move the cooking oils I needed a new place for the spices. And here is where it starts to get interesting. Poppy seeds, dated from 2007. I don’t know if poppy seeds last, or turn into opium at some point, but this had to be a bad sign. I took a good long look at those spices, and some of them I’ve had as long as I’ve been cooking. I have moved, too. Many, MANY times.

Years ago, after helping us move into our new apartment, my father in law muttered under his breath “that woman never throws anything out.” I took umbrage (as one does, when they don’t want to admit that it might be true) I’m an artist! I might need those bike gears for a project! True, last time I made something with them was 1997, but you never know, I might wake up one day and want to create. Or do stained glass again. Or macrome. You never know.

It only takes one episode of Hoarders to make you feel better about yourself. I’m not like that! You think, knowing that you’d never save moldy vitamins. But then, you think about the poppy seeds. Hmm. In my frenzy I am letting go of many, many years worth of shit. I had a sweater from my high school boyfriend, for gods sake. Why? Why would I keep such a thing? And why would I keep that too tight silver puffy dress, just in case someone invites me to a Star Trek convention? Logically, as Spock would say, this does not make sense. The last time I knew anyone who was willing to even own up to liking Star Trek, much less go to their conventions, was before I was married. Also before I was married? That black garter. Sorry honey, I don’t think you ever even saw that one. I’m a bit past my prime for wearing it again, so it goes, along with any plan to be Lady Gaga for Halloween. Trust me, that would be really scary.

There is also a lidded bucket at my house that has been the bottomless pit for cables, cords, and random electronics: the PURE LARD can. This is something I have been hauling around since I found it at a garage sale in college. It reads Oscar Mayer PURE LARD on the side, in big, bold print. presumably this is where people used to store their pure stuff, and kept their impure lard, uh, somewhere else. For us it is the Bermuda triangle of cords. Sure, we’ve cleaned it out, and thrown away the only cords we did need, somehow keeping all the ones we didn’t. (If anyone has a HP photosmart printer, let me know, I need to borrow the power plug.) Last night it was dealt with, with ruthless abandon and caution to the wind. I’m quite sure that if we need a cord for something, we now won’t have it. AND I DON’T CARE. Wow, that feels good. This is like therapy! Only way cheaper!

In the bottom of the can? A Walkman. That’s right, one of those little yellow thingies you used to put tape cassettes in. And this is where I let out a whoop of happiness. As you now know I have most of my old tapes. So I’m off again, right now, to fill another bag for the Salvation Army; I am going to get out “Bithchin’ Party Tape ‘86” and rock it, old school, while wielding a huge scythe.