I’m a little out of rhythm. Out of rhythm of writing, yes, but out of rhythm of living, too. I guess that’s what being sick is.
Last week I finally took the initiative and dove into The Great Purge. I was fierce and fast and exceedingly effective. I was on my way to having it all taken care of likely within the week. But then.
I hate that so often it is when you are burning bright and really accomplishing something that you are struck down physically. Why must that be? After years of not getting The Great Purge done, I’m finally motivated and wholly committed to it’s completion in short order. Instead I’m weak and in bed with a chesty cough.
I don’t mind being reminded to slow down and relax now and then, but this time it’s more like I’m being mocked. You’re getting something monumental done? Mu-ah-hahaha, now I have you! *Bang!* Struck down and doing nothing.
The process of The Great Purge is a difficult one in places. It’s fantastic to finally have access to all my things after all these years, and to ruthlessly sort and mostly purge. However, when I get to the items that bring up memories lost, of a self that is no more, it can become emotional. There is no better way to realize how we modify our memories than to go through this process. It’s strange, it’s difficult, and sometimes it’s wonderful.
As I lay here in bed recovering, pining to be working again, I most of all cannot wait to have less, and to have that little bit completely organized. To me that is freedom.