This endless mess

The last few days, weeks have been an exercise in mess. As in transferring the mess from one location to another, from one city to another, from one apartment to another from one room to another. As in attempting to clean up one mess but making another in the process. As in not understanding where the mess came from in the first place, whose mess it really is and just wanting it to go away.

There's an ebb and flow to messing things up. Things in this room are a mess of details and where all of it is supposed to go. Truth be told, there's not really enough space for all the stuff that I (we) have to put here. Although I already tossed a bunch of clothes I no longer wear, lost the sofa and bench (to very good new homes), boxed up books and CDs to be sold at a garage sale, consolidated the kitchen collection and pared down my lotions and potions, there's still more to clean up.

It's overwhelming, really. Two people in love decide to live together. There are days when I feel like I've dumped everything somewhere else and that someday in the distant or not-to-distant future, I wonder if I'll wonder where I've put it. That pretty barrette that I wore only once since I bought it four years ago, but maybe should've kept because one never knows when one might have need for a pretty barrette. There are also days when I feel like I've implicitly obliged Patrick to dump everything in order to make room for all my stuff. And I wonder if he'll wonder whatever happened to the set of sheets that didn't fit any bed in this place but maybe should've kept because one never knows when one might need to cover a non-existent inflatable bed of a size and shape yet to be determined if and when guests come from out of town.

I keep thinking that if we just close our eyes, toss it all in the dumpster and never look back we won't even know what we've missed. This mess.

I love Patrick. Without any hesitation, I love him. And this is the most right thing I've ever chosen in my entire life.

But moving is a messy bitch.