I’m no neat freak. My brain, my workspace, my laptop’s desktop, my bags, my apartment are all kinds of cluttered.
About once a year -sometimes more frequently- I get a supreme urge to de-clutter. And it works, but I need periodic encouragement. It’s usually inspired by the same thing – I go on a trip, on which I bring my laptop, two skirts, some shirts, and a lot of knee socks and panties. Then I return home and I’m shocked by the amount of stuff I own. This year the focus is not just on general reduction of clutter, but also an attempt to reduce the amount of non-digital information I have in my life. Why do I still have photocopies of essays I read in my first year of college? Sentimentality, I guess.
I also have a unique housecleaning problem, which is: copious amounts of porn and uh, sexual instruments. Maybe I need to have some kind of party during which I can play porn fairy so I can get this stuff out of my life. This is one of the few times when I’m saddened by the fact that I don’t live on an anonymous Manhattan block. If I were, for example, to put the Fucking Love Machine [link is to my Fleshbot review of said object] on the curb (its box is not discreet) in front of my building, the neighborhood would be a-titter.
But this process of cleaning isn’t just about excising the clutter from my life, its about clearing out the clutter inside my brain, clutter that’s preventing me from being a productive human being.
It used to be that when I accomplished something big, I would go into a massive, tearful funk for a few days. I’d been thinking maybe I was over this, since post-Bi Apple shoot I only had one evening of weepiness, nothing after finishing my book, and nothing after graduation. Now I guess I’m making up for lost mopey-ness, because I have been utterly useless for the past two weeks.
I know its normal, I know it’ll get better, I know August is a dreadfully slow month. I know all these things in my brain, but I cannot shake this deep now what feeling, this feeling that the joke’s on me. My success isn’t actually driving dollars into my bank account, its all press clippings and good reviews and gushing praise – which is good, much better than scathing reviews and vitriol. And I know that every little bit helps move me towards my goal of world domination, but right now I’m looking at my bank account and looking at my success and I feel like banging my head against a wall.
I am not bummed about the choices I’ve made, I’m really very proud of my “bravery” (slash bold stupidity) in taking a wild leap and forging the strange path I’ve been making for myself. But I don’t really know what’s next, and I am very very tired. Right now everything seems like an uphill battle, and I kinda want to chill out in self-sustaining neutral for a bit. Unfortunately, that isn’t really possible financially with the peculiar combination of jobs I’ve got going for me. Efforts to do new things seem like tremendous efforts right now, and I. Just. Don’t. Know. Maybe I can try and put a funny spin on things and call this the August of Self Doubt and Uncertain Futures. But it doesn’t seem all that funny to me right now.
I do know that in the immediate and advanced future, I need to strike a balance between being very productive and being sane – during this past year I definitely began to lose it a bit, forgetting things left and right, and being weirdly irresponsible, unable to follow through on things and wrap projects up properly. But I get twitchy when I’m not overwhelmed. I know this is a problem that needs fixing, but I’m more willing to fill my life up with deadlines than to back off and learn to relax. Which is partly why I’m getting panicky now, because I don’t have an overwhelming amount of stuff to do (though if I keep slacking, it’ll get there). The absence of deadline-fear also means that I have more time to take stock and look at the mess – my apartment, my finances, my plans (or lack thereof).
I hope the worst of my crankiness and misery is behind me – over the next few days I am required to get dressed and leave the house (no excuses, though I’m sure I could think of about a thousand). But I still have an awful lot to figure out. Hopefully I can prolong my quiet time and continue to be mostly in hiding while I sort it all out. Lots of days in my boyfriend’s bed have helped, as I’m sure a few days in Bella Vendetta’s bed will help when I go to Maine to visit her and her teeny tiny adorable chihuahuas this weekend.