Being artistically inclined, or wishing myself to be, has always seemed to support my natural hoarding instincts. Little pieces of paper, the printed packaging of a store I love, the bits of scrap from past projects…somehow I have to sit and convince myself it will not be the end of the world if I decide to throw it away. Sunday while cruising on little sleep and half a Coke, I decided my first day back in the apartment would be the perfect time to spring clean. Not clean I suppose, but organize. After bringing exactly one extra bag back than I checked on March 30th, I figured I could spare some of my clutter in hopes of making my new possessions (like the accessories to my Mac) more comfortable. I started by sorting all of my new Denim & Supply clothing and hanging them up in the prettiest way in my closet. I categorized my accumulation of magazines and stacked them underneath the broken Eames chair that is still serving as my nightstand. And I dusted off some picture frames and rounded up all the photos still waiting for a spot in my shrine.
The drawers and cubby of the dresser that I’ve claimed to be mine were the next areas to address. While my jewelry drawer is still looking a little unkempt, my craft supplies are perfectly orderly and my electronic devices and chargers and usb drives have all found roomy homes in smaller drawers.
When I’ve been organizing for a few hours, I tend to start throwing things in little shopping bags and call it a day. Sunday though, I went through those bags…specifically the ones I had hastily made when I cleaned out my desk for selling. I found homes for everything, except my 2012 planner. I stared at the hot pink leather cover, the embossed gold stamping of the year, and I felt as if I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. Unsure about its fate, I cast it aside to tackle a pile of receipts and movie tickets (which I collect–the movie tickets, not the receipts) and continued about my day. Rather rashly, I put my old agenda in the bag I had designated for trash and left the room. Probably ten minutes later I reentered our bedroom and rescued it. It’s now hanging out on top of my dresser, with the cd my sister burned me atop it.
It’s obviously well into 2013, but I can’t seem to get rid of that old thing. Being as nostalgic as I am, flipping through the pages marked with wedding, honeymoon, and my flight information for my journey to Alaska is like walking down memory lane. Somehow it feels traitorous of me to get rid of it. It’s just some paper, glue and string, but isn’t it so much more as well?
Not everything is this hard for me to throw away…I actually used to be quite loose in what I chose to dispose of. But years of asking my mom where something was and her responding that she got rid of it (mostly at our darned garage sales) succeeded in changing me.
Part of me thinks it would a charming relic, this planner, for my future children to discover in some box in our future basement. They could flip through it idly, see my scribbles and crossed off assignments from my last semester of college and chuckle. They might even giggle about my limitless lists, thinking me odd for trying to define my style in the empty pages near the back. Maybe it would seem like a worthless thing to keep… 2012 being so far away, as distant as the time before the Internet was invented, because I’m sure life will either be like The Jetsons or WALL-E by then. I don’t know what will come of my little planner… but I know I will be keeping it safe for a while. And if that classifies me a bit of a hoarder, so be it.