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There is a Poptart in my room.

It is open and thus far untouched. Part of me feels like there is symbolism there, that I can’t quite grasp. But the more logical side of me knows it is just a further symptom of me being unable to get my proverbial “shit together”

A couple months ago I half read Marie Kondo’s The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Not like I half read books that I hate then quit, it was intentional this time. The first half of her book tells you how to get rid of all the things that don’t bring you joy. The second how to organize all that is left after you purge the contents of your “storage closet..s”.

It felt beneficial for me personally not to read the latter half of the book. Because once I learned the Japanese secrets of storing the things I own, suddenly everything will seem essential to me. Everything will bring me joy because I can put it away without having to lose it. Hazaa!! I really will get to keep all those super bouncy balls I had in high school.

bouncy-balls

I’d gotten fed up of my room/s being in complete disrepair. That was it. I thought, “Hmm, perhaps this book will help me with my organizational skills.”

Hahahahaha

What happened was the onset of my thus far continuing existential/early life crisis. Because according to Kondo, my clutter, was not only a symptom of my unexpressed disappointment with my life, but potentially the cause of my stunted personal and professional growth. I suddenly missed the days when I only had the irrational fear that I was a hoarder.

I attempted to do the Kondo method for about 3 days, but it proved to be too intensive and I didn’t feel like I was making very much progress (something she warns about in the book by the way)  So I stopped, and told myself that in a few months I’d have a prolonged vacation from work and would really get into it at the point. In the meantime, I tried doing that one thing a day declutter method. (also a fail if you were wondering)

Fast forward a few months and I had been terminated from my job and basically living on my couch. Why the couch, you wonder? Because all of the essentials for life are located only a few feet away.

I was shin deep in a depression wallow so good I’m sure it would be worthy of some sort of epic poetry a la Homer. One day, technically yesterday I suppose, I decided to do something with myself. So I started decluttering. I added more clothes to my donation box, sorted out some more miscellaneous things that I found underneath my mountains of clothing for later decluttering sessions, and basically felt good about something I was doing.

I was so into it that I forgot to eat, so I went into my mom’s secret stash of Poptarts. I only ate one. I only ate one, because I had waited so long to actually put food into my body that it felt like doing a 10k run to physically ingest the tart. So I had to stop decluttering, and drink some water, then eat something more substantive.

In case you don’t get that, I had to stop organizing my life, because I, an adult, forgot to keep myself alive by eating…..

So there is a Poptart, just one Poptart, in my room.

It was blueberry, in case you were wondering,
JRH

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