All of my thoughts fired simultaneously for hours. I have so many things that I need to rearrange that I’m experiencing sensory overload anxiety, even now, laying on my bed focusing only on writing. Closing my eyes and focusing on my heartbeat, I noticed it was beating incredibly fast, so it’s time to lay down and decompress my thoughts. I think the problem is assessing the past, present, and future of all of this clutter.
When I’m knee-deep in writing, my only focus is on completing the next thought. I’m not thinking about the weather outside, the clutter inside, exercise, or anything else. Until I get into that writing flow, any distraction can impair my progress, so I’ve found it best to write somewhere with a refrained amount of external information. Currently, I’m writing in front of my “downsizing wall.” I would write facing outside, but this chair isn’t ideal…
When I was in the old place, it was easy to put stuff away and forget about it. Here, everything is on ugly display, clogging everywhere that isn’t urgently needed. Two hallways? The one with less priority gets filled. Wide hallways? I’ll put boxes anywhere there’s not somewhere where I can easily trip. This situation is terribly loathsome to me. I hate this messy predicament. How will I/we get myself/ourselves out of our messy situations?
I’ve moved almost everything from my former residence to my new apartment. Now I must downsize my possessions even further. Even though I got rid of the most obvious stuff before signing the year-long lease here, the ten days it took me to move in instilled this sense that I must downsize even further. If I want to have an office, “Zeal,” then I can’t have all this stuff obstructing my literal or figurative path.
About once or thrice a week, I’ll imagine that I’m not actually moving. It’s not that something will snap me out of it. Looking at an empty space won’t remind me that this is all real. It’s usually just an instantaneous thought, my mind, in disbelief, struggling to catch up with inevitabilities, innocently screening my mind with memories of life a year or five ago. It’s like how photos can really make us time travel…
I’ve just about reached the end of this mini-rower’s potential. Ten 10-minute sets at the new apartment and its pistons and monorail squeak enough to discourage me from putting my all into it. No matter how much I tried variations – rowing outside, rowing while doing laundry, using the hallway corners as grips for my arms so I wouldn’t need to use the pistons – there was just nothing that could compare. I’ll need a new option.
After adjusting to apartment living for two weeks now, although I’m not the noisiest neighbor, at least I hope not, I would be with the dull white noise of the Concept2 Model B rower. Although it is nostalgic, has a nice aesthetic, and has utility beyond belief, not here, nor in the next apartment. I couldn’t row at my full potential whenever I want with it, whereas at 11 pm, I could row on other ergometers.