Shamed by Clutter

Even the word clutter makes me shiver with anxiety. Its onomatopoeic potency - at least to me - is such that I imagine myself being buried alive by piles of paperwork, old fancy dress costumes and chargers for unknown phones or laptops that I am just too scared to throw away.

The thing is - as you may realise - I actually don't like clutter, but for some reason in the last three years I have let the stuff accumulate. And in the last few months before I quit my job, it was so bad there were just some drawers I wouldn't dare open.

This past week, I have been spending a lot of "freelance time" sorting, throwing away, tidying, cleaning. I have discovered a cacophony of obscure objects that bring back memories, but crowd my space. Three Union Jack flags from the Jubilee, two fancy dress soldiers' hats, three sets of Christmas lights, mail belonging to housemates that lived with me three years ago, health drinks that went off in 2013. Parking tickets and solitary placemats, candles with no wick and calendars well past their dates. Numerous bits of electricals and nails and scraps of paper, crusty nail varnishes, men's scarves, a book on the Karma Sutra that I definitely didn't buy...

The thing is, I'm trying to clear my head - to clear my vision. Working from home and trying to write a novel as well as searching for commercial work, I need an inspiring environment. And all this chattering clutter is not helping. Objects remind you of times gone by, of feelings gone by, they shame me with the person I have been sometimes. I don't need them here... haunting me, taunting me. I'm detoxing my life... and most of it has got to go.

So that's why I haven't written for a while... I've been in the midst of clutter Cold Turkey and it's killed my voice for a bit. But I feel it's back, stronger and more sure of itself now. 12 steps of freedom.

xx