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hormone belly
Been "decluttering" my stuff now. I got the house mostly cleared out of my parent's things, and now I am going through my stuff. The stuff we've hauled across the country a few times now. I don't want most of it. I really don't. Those moves showed me how little I want in my life. Things, things, things.
Being here and having to clear out my parents' hoard has reinforced how that was programmed into me. "Collections" my mom and dad used to call them. Piles of things. Things. More things.
So much money spent on what is essentially landfill. So much time wasted gathering and moving around.
Alot of "my" things are really things I got from here in the first place. I aspire to be able to live in a one bedroom apartment. That's what's in the back of my mind. Really I would love to be able to live out of a backpack, but right now that isn't realistic.
I don't know why I was so attached to all this. All this seemed very important to me not very long ago. Now I really don't care.
I don't know what I want anymore. I don't know what I want out of my life. I don't know how I want to live, where I want to live. I don't know if I really do want to live in isolation. I don't know if I want to be married, or even have romantic relationships. I don't know if I want to be veggie. I don't know if want to be sober. I don't know if I want to live inside. I don't know. I just don't know.
It's really interesting to me this whole minimalism fad. I used to see videos on youtube of people living in basically empty rooms and I wondered how the hell they could be happy like that. What makes someone get to that point?
I'm not there yet. I don't aspire to be. But I can see why, now, that would make someone happy. It's not the lack of stuff, it's the lack of attachment. The thing those Buddhists go on and on about. Lack of attachment. Letting go.
And just as I finish up that thought, my husband dried some of my very expensive bras in the drier and now they don't fit. I'm pretty pissed off about that. I have to spend an outrageous amount of money on bras in my size, and now two of them are too small. I mean, use your fucking brains. There are always bras hanging on the line, why the fuck would he put them in the drier? This is why I never want him to "help". Because he always just makes more work for me or ruins my shit.
This isn't about trying to be sexy or some shit. It's about what I have to do to survive. Yeah, no one gets where I'm coming from.
I am never going to make it so it's safe for me to not have to have certain things in my life. Move to Africa where it's too hot for people to wear clothes and it's no big deal, get some horrific virus and die.
Oh wait. We have a horrific virus here, but we still have all these mores too. Fuck this shit.
I am so over all this. Really.
1:55 PM - Sunday, Aug. 01, 2021
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