Image via WikipediaI mention this because it's one of the first things I wanted to get out when I got home. I hadn't measured anything for five days and was getting rather anxious about it. When I got down to it, I was relieved to see that nothing had changed. I was so sure I'd gotten bigger during the suburban retreat. But no; waist 23", hips at the widest 30 1/2", thighs at the biggest 17 1/2", arms 9". Okay.
Walking into this house, I feel instant dread. So much about this place is unfinished, the debris of my messy emotions clutters up the space. Here and there are little reminders of the many ways I've failed while living here. I tuck away the oddest things.
In all rooms, I suppose the most emotionally revealing spaces are my bookshelves; books, cards, letters, pressed flowers, receipts, little mementos. While mostly hidden, I know what's there, the things I keep in between the pages.
Letting go of emotion is so hard for me sometimes. I guess the mementos of times past remind me that I've yet to fully close the issue within myself, but the emotional clutter has built up so much that I can't find my way out of my own mess. Submersing myself under a veil of eating disorder thoughts and behaviors certainly doesn't help matters.
So, I'm setting a goal here and now, to clean out (entirely) one room at a time in my house. Perhaps starting with the children's rooms where I've hidden the least of my emotional clutter. Whatever. I have to do it. I have to move on with my life.
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