Not sure what did it. The shells perhaps. So many of them in my kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. Hallway too, and you can barely call it that. It’s a small place and that is good. But there’s too many things in it. Shells get dusty. I don’t have time to clean them and dusty annoys me. Then there’s rocks. Many, still. Too many. One day I’ll have a small house made of driftwood, rocks and shells. But I’ll cross that bridge when I’ll get there. Then there’s the many objects, from toys to potential garbage items that Sasha collects. There’s toys and books and tiny objects that the boys might never ask about again, they might never touch again and yet they’re in the house. I sort, clean them up when they grow in piles that can no longer be tamed. Every time I clean and sort I think “there’s too many.” Every time I do so I realize how much time goes into an activity that will be repeated again. And again. And again. To no avail. “But Mom, I need that.” They almost never do. Now I know.
The stack of books by my bed is also dusty. Another kind of dusty. Sheer desperation. Because I barely get to
move read them. Time is short. Wasted on so many activities that gulp it hungrily just for kicks. Pirates, time guzzlers. Like feeding rats. They’ll steal food anyway and they’ll keep multiplying. That’s what it feels like. Not worth it.
Having moved recently I went through rivers of objects, let go of many but many came with and many others have come to us since. Time gulpers. They all need attention of some sort. That means time. Mine mostly. What’s really worth hanging on to? Not much in the end. Everything is temporary and there are so few things we really need. So much we think we need but we don’t. The thought that surfaces in my brain every now and then is this: if there’s a fire, what will I be saving? The boys. And my computer if i get to it, but I won’t hold my breath on this one, I can always start anew. The boys. That’s it. Food for thought.
Keeping the necessities and some extras for now. Books. Some rocks. You’d have to see to understand why I keep them. Same for some shells. I even let go of some bracelets, shells of times past. Some I keep. Leaves and petals, gifts from my boys. Long fingers of lazy hot summer days dripping sweetness. I’m keeping those. And the photos, time imprints. Letters.
Getting rid of time guzzlers for now. Making time. Making it count. Unsubscribed from newsletters, deleted emails that I was saving for when I’ll have time. Nothing but more time rats. They chew. Juicy long hours become seconds. Short and dry. So long then. I am making time.
Yes, it must have been that stack of books by my bed that did it. Glad they did.