My VHS collection sat for months, inconveniently blocking an aisleway, intentionally being an intentional eyesore. Incidentally, with months of packing, donating, and keeping context, and a renewed interest in watching occasional movies, I’ve purged anything that I can watch in a higher definition or anything that isn’t rare/resellable. VHS represents a particular aesthetic for me, so if I’m going to enjoy it, it needs to be manageable, otherwise, I won’t want to deal with it.
When I moved furniture for minimal wage, we estimated the two densest things to move: textiles, then books. Bundles of rolled-up carpet were only beat by furniture. Large boxes of books might not seem bad until you have to move it a few times or the fatigue kicks in. All the boxes I’m using for books are smaller than around 12″ width, 12″ height, and 12″ depth. You never know who’ll give you a hand. Strong or otherwise.
“Home is where you can be you.” “There’s the quote.” “Yeah.[1,2,3]” Part of this extended process of detaching from my home I’ve built up over the course of seven years has been to learn to become more comfortable being “me” while abroad. My social anxiety is when I’m too focused on keeping my mask on, being a certain way, or having to be concerned with how my persona is perceived. Instead, just be you everywhere.
I haven’t been consistently exercising since I kicked this massive downsizing decluttering project, “Moving Zeal,” and there are parts of me that are justifying that by saying: “Well, you’re moving boxes around. Some are really heavy.” I also have been not sedentary for most of the day, so my metabolism is up. I’m sleeping more, too, and my weight has been within the same range. Still, I miss rowing: the effort, obligation, and self-confident satisfaction.
Every shelf emptied eventually gets filled. It’s been a weird ebb and flow seeing empty shelves when I sit down to write one evening, then seeing full shelves the next evening, but I suppose for large-scale packing projects of recovering hoarders, adjusting to life without so much clutter everywhere, natural tendencies easily return, and yet, over the course of these past few months I’ve made significant, prolific changes. The shelf is half-full or half-empty, perhaps…
Each motherboard is a different puzzle to both assess for resale value and dismantle for scrap value. Sometimes you’d get the old school ones where the soldered-on batteries and huge heat sinks would be a pain to snap off. Other times you’d develop a rhythm after scraping your hundredth slightly-outdated board. What surprised me about the recycling company most was how infrequently we’d consider selling them online. Waiting for $20 versus getting a quick X-cents/pound, perhaps?
I’ve held onto some memories for too long. The good ones, of course, I want to hold onto forever. The bad ones, though? The ones that just bring me down have limited uses: sometimes, remembering these events can be useful as metrics for where I’ve been, what I don’t want to repeat, and advisory lessons. Otherwise, all too often, the emotions of those memories weigh me down more than help me out. Just shred ’em!
Filling my car with scrap metal for a recycling run brought back memories working for an e-recycling warehouse, especially after writing at length about my thrift store misadventures. Both had daily and weekly weigh-in goals for keeping production moving. Unfortunately, that company – now gone or restructured – wasn’t earning any money, so we only occasionally met those wild goals. Still, it was a fun experience to remember on occasion. Let’s take a behind-the-scenes look into e-recycling.
Antiquatedness and needless wordiness prevent File… Don’t Pile! from being a fantastic paperwork filing system. The book is best approached as a casual guide to skim through when you need some organizing inspiration, rather than anything that could significantly help you improve messy paperwork piles. Computer technology from just after this book’s 1986 publication has rendered sections of solutions woefully so-so. Still, there is more substance here than not, so let’s clip out some useful suggestions.
If I’m honest with myself, my interest in rowing has tapered off over the past few weeks [as of this publishing]. I used to row twice daily, now if I row a few times a week, it’ll be a welcome change. I’ve let the discipline of exercising slip. Sometimes, it’s understandable, where if I’ve moved boxed all day, that’s one thing, but on days where I’m just writing? Let’s not use excuses about why not.