Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I didn't think I could show my face here ever again.
Before
After
So sometimes I throw ideas up here---Hey, I’m cleaning out my closet. Look at what a mess I’ve made!---with the thought that posting it will motivate me to see it through. I couldn’t possibly post pictures of the squalor I am living in as a result of having emptied my closet without later showing you the pristine order I manage to make of it. Solid plan, right? Right?
Well, no, it turns out.
Apparently, I can’t publicly shame myself into cleaning.
(Apparently, I have no pride whatsoever.)
(Apparently, it’s all your fault for not motivating me.)
I went down swinging guys, I really did. For 10 days I kept that closet empty, navigating boxes and totes to make my way to the desk. For 10 days I sucked the air out of vacuum storage bags, confident that it was all my puffy winter sweaters that were making this apartment so damn crowded. For 10 days I believed the feat was manageable.
And then...I didn’t anymore. Then I realized that my place was looking like something you’d see on an episode of Hoarders and that no amount of snapping was going to Mary Poppins that shit into order.
I would enter the Spoffice all ready to tackle an area---Oh, today I will go through the foot-high pile of magazine clippings that I’ve set aside for my future scrapbooking/vision boarding endeavors!---only to find myself paralyzed.
Well, I can’t put the clippings in that drawer because that’s where my manuscript (ha!) is going to go and maybe I could put them in a tote but I’m out of totes (and forbidden to do any more Target runs until I make some more progress) so that means freeing up a bin by going through our (2007) wedding pictures first and finally getting them into an album and oh what a job that is and I couldn’t possibly throw these magazine pictures out because the only thing standing between me and every dream I’ve ever had is completing a vision board which depicts all the treasures and satisfaction I am going to manifest by simply looking at them all glue-sticked onto a piece of cardboard. (Right Oprah?) (Glue-sticked?) Maybe I should hold off on this area for now but does that mean I’m backburnering my dreams and why am I always doing that?
A few days in row of this started really taking a toll on my mental health.
Seriously...it came up in therapy. I kid you not, my therapist told me to put the shit back in the closet. She said, “Put it in the closet and shut the door. Sometimes you have to do that. You know it’s there and when you’re ready to go through it, you will.”
Two notes on this.
1) Um, usually I’m not talking about household chores in therapy (c’mon kids, you know there are waaaaay bigger dysfunctional fish to fry here) but some whining about how “I can’t even finish cleaning my fucking closet,” may have occurred.
2) “Put it in the closet and shut the door”? I’m going to ride the hell out of that metaphor.
The fact is, I got overwhelmed. By the closet. By grief. By life. And tackling it all at once was unwise. And impossible. And driving me to drink. Yet, for a minute I felt committed to doing just that. (Committed to taking on every challenge at once, not to drinking...although I was pretty committed on that front as well.)
And here’s why: I’m turning 30 on Saturday so there’s been a rush order put on accomplishment.
I’ve attempted many a blog entry about how fucked up about turning 30 I am (and how disappointed I am in myself for being so fucked up about it) but suffice it to say that if all the other stuff that’s gone down in the last year wasn’t enough to get me reflecting on life (and it’s plenty...Plen. Ty.) then entering my thirties sure as shit is. And all this reflecting? That’s what turned me into a coked up cleaning lady, ravaging every corner of my home and soul with a dustpan and broom. I was going to enter my thirties with a clean closet and a detailed life plan which was to be all drawn up, laminated and framed by Saturday. Except, as with the apartment, trying to force order when I don’t even know half of what’s going on inside is unwise. And impossible. And driving me to drink.
(Isn’t this metaphor fun? I was hoping I would have some childhood memory of being locked in a closet that I could weave into things and really get good and deep but no such luck.)
If I was turning 29 again (and maybe I’ll become that lady) then I would simply be depressed about going into this first birthday without my mom on the planet and that alone would be enough of a derailment. And it is. I will miss her homemade cake and frosting. I will miss my name written in her beautiful cursive on the front of a birthday card. And I never thought I cared about this kind of thing, but I’ll even miss her telling me that another year has gone by and she is proud of who I’ve become. (I hate to get preachy but next time your mom says something like that to you, really take it in.) I am sad that my mom is not here to see me turn 30. Indeed, that alone is enough to take on.
But because it’s 30, there’s another set of anxieties that come with this birthday---the “Am I proud of who I’ve become?” of things. This is when the drinking usually starts. In certain respects, I feel okay about it. I’ve loved as deeply and generously as I yet know how, I’ve tried to be brave when it felt easier to surrender, and I’m striving to, more than anything else, treat life as a gift. But on paper? I’m up six pounds and unemployed. Which parts do you think I’m choosing to focus on? Wisdom has a way of fleeing the scene when your jeans are cutting into your love handles.
I’ll be entering my thirties with a mess of a closet and plenty of unmet goals. Not what I envisioned (not that I had a clear picture in mind...or even a hazy abstract) but then who could have seen any of this coming? I think I’m doing okay (in that feeling mostly shitty seems appropriate) for a girl (please don’t tell me I have to start saying woman) whose mom died and whose dad was diagnosed with brain cancer only three and half months later. (He’s doing very well, by the way.) I feel so at the mercy of circumstance and emotion that even my inner control freak is throwing up her hands like, “Bitch, why you messin‘ with me?” But, then again, if you can’t fall apart in the months following the loss of your mom---when every single day the yearning of your heart is what wakes you up in the morning---then when can you?
A bit of advice (from a person who has no right offering any): Don’t wait until the last minute to cram for success, you never know what could happen. (I didn’t even manage to vanquish procrastination.) I’ve talked with my siblings and we all agree that it’s getting harder, not easier. All of our hearts are broken in a way we now know will never truly be fixed and it’s unrealistic to think that things are going to relax into some sort of steady, predictable rhythm just yet. Most of the time this life doesn’t even feel like my own anymore. It’s a sad chaos of despair and worry and sorrow and anguish (with almost as many laughs as there are tears thanks to Dan and some funny-ass sisters) and I simply can’t expect order right now as I never know what the day will bring. I have to get comfortable with the limitations that come with this even if it means not accomplishing everything I ever wanted to by Saturday...or even by this time next year. (Can I please have my shit together by 40 though? I mean fuh real...)
You know what I'm saying here, right? I have to learn to live with my messy closet. It’s too much to take on at once so I’ll have to go box by box and have little expectation when it comes to a timeline. Of course none of it is going anywhere. (Unless I get robbed; I don’t really know how the metaphor would extend in that situation but I’d hope to be able to use the phrase, “the missing bobbleheads of my heart.”) The fits and starts of crying and cleaning and writing, the inconsistent beats of joy and laughter followed by silent stretches of this deepest pain are the rhythm of things now and even though it’s a song I’ve never heard (“Bitch, I don’t like this music,” the control freak says) I’m going to have to get used to it.
The Spoffice is my sacred space again with most of the mess back behind closed doors. Dan walked in last night and said, “It looks nicer every time I come in.” Some days it does. Other days I’m sorting through an area and the piles take over the bed. Or I’m working on a piece of writing and there are scraps of paper everywhere, notebooks strewn about, plates of half-eaten food on the floor. Sometimes I fall asleep on the bed amidst the notebooks and piles, my reddened face on a wet pillow.
My therapist suggested I try spending a week in bed without showering to see how it felt. (Want her number?) Dan has said the same thing many times. You wouldn’t know it from the state of things, but I’ve kept busy. Sometimes I’ve just kept busy with telling myself I have to keep busy. I think they both just want me to sleep. I’m tempted to try it if only for the pictures I could post here. The worry, of course, is that there would be no “after” shots of that either and I would never get out of bed again.
But who am I kidding? You-Know-Who would be all, “Bitch, not on my watch...”
There has been some progress. A few of the little bottles on the spice rack up top have Scrabble letters in them. The others have tiny sea shells or buttons...this delights me. Also, I think a future post will be dedicated solely to the painting of this desk. Pink? Not so much.
My favorite part. Hello, vision board! (Using the over-the-door shoe hangy apparatus for storage is a Becky Breslin Design.)
This is a kitschy hoarder's version of minimalist decor.
That's just good Chi.
My real favorite part. Those are our first baseball gloves...my mom's and mine.
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12 comments:
This is why I love you. I laugh & cry all at the same time when I read your posts. Your sorrow breaks my heart; your humor warms my soul. You did the right thing! Although, I am sad that you are no longer a member of the Hoarders of America group alongside me (remember we are under construction and have 3 emptied closets amongst us STILL.)
Love to you always!
BFYFM xoxo
Oh Laura! I love that you have your mom's clements card, how appropriately Portsmouth. 30 is not so bad, I've been there for a week and it's not so bad ;-)
The site of mom's clements card made me cry....I didn't know you had it! I love it. "Take my card...." Losey...30 is young and no one has done anything truly earth shattering by that age unless you are in Hollywood or an athlete, so take the pressure OFF! I insist! On the closet front...do it when you are ready and then it will be easier...I know this from experience with my basement job. When you are ready, I'll come help you! As for your bday...we will celebrate in style tomorrow and we are so looking forward to it. Mom won't be there, but three of your lovely sisters will be :)! We'll toast to mom and Tara is making her famous cake...accompanied by mom's cake pan and all! Love you!
BFIFM---Thanks for holding on...I'm trying to get back here with some regularity...trying. And I am totally still a hoarder...the rest of the place is a hot mess. Might I suggest my coping mechanism of throwing everything back in the closet for your situation?
Allie---First of all, I have to make a rule that you give me some indication that you're Allie H. (see how I'm protecting your identity) and not Allie W. because I've assumed all along that ALLISON is Allie W. The only reason I knew it was you was because I know you just turned 30. Help me out with that, would ya?
Second, Clements will always be my mom to me...your mom too!
Thanks for the support, Benny. I'm slowly getting over my angst and into the idea of celebrating, thanks to you! I know we'll have a blast and am so appreciative of everything you're doing.
"Take my card..." Holy shit, that just broke me and made me smile too. "Take my card..." Oh, mama. And, to be honest, it's my old Clements card, not hers, but just looking at it reminds me so much of her that I wanted to display it. I wish I knew where hers went...
Closet~all in good time.
Turning 30~Bec is right on!
Pictures with Gigi and the Clements card~without a doubt tearful. She didn't need her card anymore b/c they had her # memorized! Can't believe she was so daring to take a bunch of us to IGA. I can just handle my two!
Enjoy the party. I envision her spreading the frosting on the cake and then licking her finger with a laugh. I see her taking Ben on her lap when you are about to blow out your candle's. I see her getting into the karioke and dancing while she sings. The treasured thoughts and memories of it all.
I love you and Happy 30th Birthday!!
Lola,
You are so talented! I love reading your posts. You are an amazing writer and an amazing woman. Keep up the good work:)
Happy 30th! Welcome to the club.
It's not as bad as it seems....
XO
Happy Birthday from the Straight-up-Stranger! I continue to follow your progress and marvel at your strength -
The Clements Card made me cry too. Nothing was more fun than meeting your mom there. "Oh good, I was afraid you'd stopped eating when I have not seen you for a while!" she would say and then we would laugh and chat for a while right there in the bread aisle. I know how proud she was of you and all her girls. Your posts make me laugh ,,,,, and cry too. You are very talented, and someday the world will know. (and as for where her card is..... it is probably where mine is....but all we had to do was give our card number....and oh we were proud of our low numbers!)
The Second Grade Teacher, but not yours.
Wise words my friend told me when I was about to turn 30: You are the person you will be the ret of your life when you turn 30.
Of course she meant one's character, but it went further than that. At 30 you settle into a nice life groove. You really do have less highs and lows. You automatically know if you will becomes friends with someone (far less drama). You may not accomplish all your goals, but you will know what direction you are headed in. You will let a lot more go. 30's are so much less tumultuous than your 20's (although it may not feel that way right now). Enjoy your 30's. XOXO
Jen V: Oh, I so loved those images of her spreading the frosting, etc...thank you for that!
Jen C: Thanks for the kind words and for showing up at the Spew!
Straight-up: Thanks for the birthday love and encouragement.
Not my second grade teacher (which still makes me laugh): First of all, I think you and my mom were numbers 1 and 2 with those Clements' cards. Second, don't tell Dan I told you, but he wrote me a note after seeing your post about that little moment in the bread aisle and said it made him weep. Just such a reminder of her humor and smile and laugh. (Did the same for me.) Thank you so much for that gift.
Sassy---Thanks for the wise words about 30. The calm you talked about gets me psyched. I like the idea of becoming who you will be for the rest of your life too. I do have that feeling of like, okay, now I know better about some of this...let's put it into action. Thanks again for sharing your insight. It's all good stuff to hear...especially from someone so SASSY!
Oh Lo- thank you for putting me in the shrine with our mamma. Love your guts!
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