The Great Purge

The decision i've half-made for myself this morning is that i'm going to quit--smoking, that is. I ran out last night at about 10PM. I have no desire to spend the money on a new pack, and as far as I know down the line I won't have the money for a new set of lungs. I usually wait until I get deathly ill, because my body naturally rejects the smoke. Then, it's easier not to go back once i've recovered. At least for a few months. The problem is, a few months after the fact, I find myself with my 5th Sierra Nevada in hand and a Marlboro Red twirling betwixt my fingers. We'll see how it goes.

Another important decision in the works: to rid myself of all worldly possessions. Quit "building treasures" here on earth, so to speak. I've thrown away a lot of sentimental objects. Useless but heartfelt gifts, a growing heap of decaying nostalgia. Among them was little porcelain figurine of a boy and girl kissing. In the bottom it says: "I promise you we will always be together." My first boyfriend (of all time) won it for me at Wildwood New Jersey, or Seaside Heights, something like that -- one of those places where you play games, win tickets and trade the tickets for prizes. After we broke up, I liked to look at the bottom and laugh.

I threw away a bunch of yarn, since i'm sure i'm not going to be making any hats or scarves till next winter. I kept the crocheting needles to give away.

I'm giving a lot of stuff away or selling it. Isn't that a sign of someone about to commit suicide? Hmm. I guess that's what i'm doing, though-- in an abstract way. Commiting emotional suicide. Killing of the old self.

That reminds me of this quote:

"When one realized that his life is worthless he either commits suicide of travels." (Edward Dahlberg, American Novelist 1900-1977).

I'd prefer the latter. This reminds me of cemetaries, and why I like them. I'll write more on this another day.

I was about to throw away all my pictures, but my mother stopped me. She entreated me to put them all in a box, and send them to her. She wants to show them to my children one day, if I have any. I was grateful for this, because of all things I find myself most attached to pictures.

Which reminds me of a story. When I was still with ex #2, Ruben, he threw a fit over the fact that I retained pictures of my first boyfriend. We got into a big fight and as he sat, introverted and silent-- I quietly went over to my old photo album. I ripped out every picture of my First I could find in there. In retrospect, it was just a big show. I still had pictures of him and I, although not my favorites, tucked away in my drawer somewhere. Anyway, I ripped out all of the pictures, tied them up in a plastic bag, marched outside to the dumpster and threw it in with a flourish. Liberation, right?

I'm not even sure Ruben knew I threw away the pictures. He was being so ensimismado that I'm pretty sure he didn't know what I was doing as I was doing it! I may have said something to him about it months later, but i'm not sure it stuck then. Perhaps it was more for me, than for him.

Speaking of past loves and losts, and continuing with the current theme:

I'm giving my ex #3, Tom (Amazing, now there are three exes. I'm moving up in the world of experience! Should I be glad about this? Because i'm not. Oh, tangents.) most of my books. Let me rephrase that: I'm giving my friend Tom most of my books. I'm pretty sure just to hold for awhile, until I settle down somewhere, but this may be years down the line. In the end, there are always Libraries. I hate to part with them, but they weigh a ton and are a bitch to transport.

Why do all of this? Why purge myself of all this junk, paper, memory?

Because all these "things" are just physical representations of spiritual sentiments. As long as i've got my memory, I don't need the reminder. I don't need these objects to prove something. "This person loved me"; "This boy wrote me a poem"; "My little sister is an amazing artist"; "I've visited this country"; "I met this celebrity". Please. Who needs evidence? I'm not presenting a case before a court. I'm content to have these faces, names and moments tucked neatly in the nooks and crannies of my grey matter. I'll leave the sorting and filing to the nuerons and synapses.

I'm also increasingly convinced that keeping these objects in my life is distracting me. I need to cleanse. It's like too many advertisements on television, too many choices, too many, too much, too BAD. So, i'm not a clean sheet of paper. I've got an eraser and though faint traces remain, i've got more room to scribble.

Most importantly, there is the little fact that, with the lifestyle I plan on donning within the next few months, I can't afford to drag around all of this luggage! Emotional and otherwise. What do I need to live? I barely consider clothing necessary, but the good laws of the US of A make it so. I need the clothes on my back then, money yes, sort of, food for sustinance, water for hydration-- and human company. A toothbrush. A backpack. A good pair of running shoes, yes. Although, I prefer Birks. I've found time and time again that i'm able to pack my entire world into a small Jansport backpack. I've lived out of one for at least a month at a time, why not longer?

"The man who goes alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till that other is ready." - Henry David Thoreau.

I feel like all this STUFF if like another person, weighing me down, holding me back. I want to leave today (not today, today but you get the idea). I don't want to wait until i'm drowning in a piles of things and wondering what it all means.

The plan: leave the luggage, and carry only as much as my heart will hold.