I feel like much of what I want to do, onward, is charity-oriented. That does require living within my means, so, not selling everything I own and living without anything, but, I don’t need many luxuries outside what is freely or cheaply available online. I feel like that’s the point of what I missed over the past 5 years of adding to my identity through buying materialistic objects, hoarding them, and wanting things to showcase me.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out a good system for processing things to donate, and I’ve collected enough thoughts to write about that. Basically, I have a table near the door where I keep all of my trash, recycling, and now donations. Just as I might bring down my trash/recycling before doing an errand out-and-about, so, too, will I bring bags or boxes of donations to downsize the unyieldly apartment-mansion.
As this camera roll shows, reverse-chronologically, I took my first Methylprednisolone dose, and then found I had the energy to work on three separate projects. As I was going, I was finding myself going back to my old, learned, hoarding behaviors where I was coming up with new spots for things instead of working with or reusing existing spots. As I wrote for a note to remember: “Don’t build new pathways when existing ones work.”
Before renting the apartment-mansion nearly three years ago, I decided to pay extra for the view. I had assumed, wrongfully so, that this part of the complex would be quiet. The other apartment was situated in the middle of the complex, so I imagine it could be even louder. Despite the continually noisy neighbors that I didn’t experience at my last apartment, at least I can now enjoy the view while writing, after furniture rearranging.
I had incidentally two people over today regarding maintenance on the apartment-mansion. The second was the first annual “annual” inspection of water pipes and smoke detectors. The first was a contractor that was there to replace a smoke detector that had been painted over, over the years, and wasn’t giving a good signal to the fire alarm company. Whenever possible, I like to strike up conversations, organically, with people, since they have interesting life insights.
I donated about 69¢ worth of books last week. If I look over the list of what I donated, which is something I did mainly because 69 is a funny number and the theme of trying to sell things to get more of the funny numbers in our bank accounts or wallets, then I feel some tinges of regret which is natural for any recovering former hoarder. That number now is closer to $2.49. Why not sell them?
I’ll be returning a book today that I don’t have the patience to finish reading after donating a box almost full of books, and some CDs, that I also don’t have the patience to listen through once or once again. I write about events like this when they are sufficiently difficult for me to do. Taking out the trash is effortless because it’s trash, but many of these items I once considered almost as treasure.
Two years ago, I packed up my NES collection during my move into the apartment-mansion. I played some of the NES games after I moved, but a majority of them remained in the boxes I moved them with and still reside in my second bedroom – the storage room. Some intrepid games made their way to the four bookshelves I use for my downsizing and selling. I forgot about all this until I received a gift.
I have four TMNT shirts that I haven’t worn since before I moved from my previous residence. None of these are mementos or hold any significant value to me other than presenting a design of a concept that I enjoy. Since my spine surgery and during the recovery process, I’ve been deciding what I can downsize, and three of these shirts are in a box that’s ready to go on my next thrift store adventure.
After hours of debate over keeping the souvenir glass of the hospital where I had surgery to relieve the pressure on my spine, I favored materialism. I do not have a positive surgical experience. The item, instead, functionally reminds me of a transcendent experience. After waking up from anesthesia, I was trapped; my body was numb, like the music video for “One.” This glass, in a sense, should remind me of my realization of absurdism.