It's impossible, paralyzing, this clutter. I'm paring down, selling shit off, not nearly fast enough, I want results now. NOW GODDAMN IT NOW!!!
I should be careful what I wish for or there will be a fire...
Boxes, stuff listed for sale, no writing now for ? weeks, months, longer even, the table I no sooner bought was filled with shit, clutter, and so I cleaned it off and it's a much healthier space. Space to work. Space to stare across the way at a brick wall and think...
Unpack a couple of boxes. A few suitcases. I have paper, pens, art-supplies, that predicate me living for ever if ever I hope to use them all. I want for nothing. Here, in the living room, the other table, there are still a couple dozen unpacked boxes, lots to sell, lots to give away, mail off as surprises to randoms who've long forgotten me, lots to do, and I have to resign myself to "slowly...slowly". Maybe, by the time I go to leave, I'll be ready. Or maybe, by the time I'm ready, I can leave. One way or the other I'm working...
Notebooks, notebooks, read through - transcribe, tear up pages, you have to tear them up or the army of homeless that live in the alley will be reading my personal shit, Xmas cards, letters, tear it all up, tear it up.
The shit that sells - a wood block - a runaway best seller, this is the ad that everyone is clicking on, and no fault of the copy, that's it, as described, wood block, makes noise, everyone wants one, 35 visits in 12 hours, crazy, the half-witted child's acceptance into Band, dozens of views, completely random, posting items the things I gauge least likely sell, the most likely sit on the shelf. If there's a lesson here it's list it all - you never know what people will buy.
It feels good to let it go.