Sunday, November 6, 2011
My name is Pune and I am a slob. I think. It's not like you'll find toenail clippings on the dining room table (true blind date story!) or rotting gourds from last Autumn (If you poke holes in them, they'll dry out and you can shake them like maracas. Am I the only one with a thing for tambourines?), but it's just so much easier to fling clothes on the chair instead of hanging them up.
If I were happy as a piglet in $hit in my barnyard, I wouldn't care. But the visual clutter really bothers me, and the fact that I can't let go of certain things weighs me down. Like why is my Halloween costume from 3 years ago (back-up dancer for Prince) still in the dry cleaning basket… Because I'm waiting for the next occasion that calls for a 1980s sparkly purple v-neck jumpsuit? (Ironically, the only other time I wore it was to a Dave Davies concert at the Bottom Line, and it clearly resonated with some fans from Japan, who took my picture for their fanzine. Ridonkulous, I know.) I vacillate between wanting lots of things I can look at and touch and throwing everything out because it's all just crap, crap, crappity crap. Like Sri Swami Satchidananda says, By simply going into your room and seeing its condition, people can tell how much rubbish there is inside your mind.
And the possessions, ugh! He has more to say on that: Remember, when you say that so many things are "mine, mine, mine, mine" you have literally thrown mines all around you. They are ready to explode at any moment. You cannot even walk with ease. True. Just today I stepped in a stray blob of cat food that had fallen in the kitchen, and it sent me sock-skating across the floor. You don't want that kind of rug pulled out from under you in your own house.
And it's really more about what you can't see, what's smouldering/mouldering in the corners and under the sink. Seething and stuttering in the bookshelves, stashed in the crisper. On a bad day it can make me feel dirty deep inside, to know that there were, say, little brown bugs in the flour.
I'm pretty sure this feeling goes back to my childhood. I'm telling you now, Catholics can be a bunch of snoops, always actively looking for the dirt on someone else while covering up their own messes. When I was about 16, my friends and I, being normal teenagers, bought a Playgirl (don't repeat our mistake if you're 16--it's about as sexy as a Lifetime movie and you're not the target audience anyway) and I hid it in my bottom drawer. My mother confronted me one day and told me I was filthy, having found it after being tipped off by my brother.
I can't really blame them any longer, 'cause I have had lots of time to work it out. (Besides, I totally reciprocated.) And so I've decided to sort of formalize it here, announcing in a public forum that in 6 months, I will be living a clutter-free life. I've already started with a variety of actions, such as buying a $7.99 grout brush at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Too bad it's not as simple as that, so I'm currently working on my strategy as outlined in a Health Commitment Plan in The Wellness Book: The Comprehensive Guide to Maintaining Health and Treating Stress-Related Illness. It's a little over the top for self-help books, because you have to come up with a 3-page plan that lists your short-term goals as they correspond to what stage you're in in terms of readiness to change (all the way from "Attempting change--need structure, support and skills" to "Change made--slipping back into bad habits"), but my process-oriented department mates at work will know just what I'm talking about.
I hope you don't mind if I report on my progress here every so often, 'cause it'd be helpful to know you're out there. So the most burning question that needs to be answered, right here, right now: What should I do with the Prince jumpsuit?
Aerosmith covers Oscar!
Oooh, I just LOVE this one, in spite of, and actually because of, the two very distinct themes going on here--George is singing about red bell peppers while Bob's covering the automotive theme with wax jobs et al...