My car decided that I should stay home tonight. And there's not many who can disagree with a car that won't start. This meant that instead of a night of productive sewing at a friend's, turned into many hours in front of the computer screen. Again.
Somewhere after eleven, I decided I needed to have a talk with myself, Havi style.
Negotiator Me: Hey, so this non-productivity thing... What's going on here?
Little Me*: *lots of flailing* Too much! TOO MUCH!!!
Negotiator Me: I agree. There's definitely too much stuff in this room. It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it. How can we make you feel better about this?
Little Me: *blink blink* I want the candy. (grabbing at a couple pieces of Christmas left-overs)
Negotiator Me: Sure. Go right ahead. Would you mind picking up that wrapper that just fell on the floor, too, and putting it in the trash? Oh, and make sure to grab your self a glass of water. And why don't you take the leftovers Tupperware down to the kitchen with you when you get the water.
Little Me: *runs off on errands eagerly*
Managed to get a few things picked up after that, though there's still the clean laundry to be put away. It's getting late. I need to sleep some time.
Little Me was right though. The sheer amount of stuff contained in my room is kind of overwhelming, not to mention the process of organizing whatever I want to keep. I keep looking at pictures of other people's houses and I sometimes long for all that space that others seem to just have lying around. Yet, space comes with it's own set of anxieties (which is a whole 'nother kettle of worms).
One day at a time, girlfriend, one day at a time.
*Apparently a three-year old prone to violent acts of non-verbal communication. ie crying, screaming, and much flailing.
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