I didn’t want to do it. Now, I’m traumatized. I am mad at my husband for making me do it. My bronchial tubes are closing up.
It had to be done though. I know that rationally, but still I’m upset. I’m a pack rat. I’ve got boxes of stuff that have sat around for thirty years. Things I haven’t touch in all of that time. I took unopened boxes from one place to another and they ended up in our basement. I don’t even remember most of the stuff. Most of the stuff has no value, monetary or emotional.
So, my husband said it was time I clean out the debris of my life. He told me it was time to unstuff myself. He said if I didn’t go through the boxes and make some tough decisions about what had value, he’d toss it all out the basement windows when I was at work. He’s lucky I don’t kill him in his sleep.
I hate it when’s he’s right. We began today. I threw out several boxes of stuff that don’t mean anything to me. I couldn’t even give it away to someone else. I could probably sell it in a yard sale (those people will buy anything.) But I couldn’t do that either. (I consider yard sales a complete and utter waste of my time – make a quarter selling a stained baby blanket or buy an Eagles plastic beer cup for a dime, yeah, right.)
I do feel freer. Less encumbered. Like a weight has been lifted. Of course, I barely put a dent in it, but it’s a start. And my hubby will have to threaten me again. And we’ll have a fight when I want to keep something stupid. But if you ever find someone that makes you throw out your crap out of love – keep em.