Spring Cleaning...In February.

Not that ‘Spring’ really means the same thing in this part of California as it does in places that have, you know, seasons.

I have now lived in my condo for six years. I have a good, therapeutic clearout at least once a year--independent of season--but it’s been a good long while since I’ve put this much effort into it. As in dusting and all. Moving things around to make better use of what little space I’ve got--and there ain’t much of that, lemme tell ya. Not that I’m complaining, mind. The less space one has, the less unnecessary rubbish one can stuff into it, which makes a good, therapeutic clearout all the easier.

You see, I have this horrible tendency to stack things. It’s a trait I seem to have inherited from my father, much to the chagrin of my mother. Anyway, I stack on all the available flat surfaces until there aren’t any more upon which to stack, and then I either have to put things away properly or do a strategic shuffle and make some stacks higher in favor of clearing some space in the more visible areas of my abode.

Guess which tactic gets used first, and possibly to death?

Obviously part of the whole ‘have a clearout’ philosophy is to rid oneself of excess stuff. On the surface, that might be enough. Thing is, though, it can also be something of a catharsis. There are plenty of cultures where an annual cleaning spree, usually in conjunction with a major religious festival or new year, is a chance for a new start in life. “Out with the old, in with the new” and all that. If you enter a new phase of life without the chattels of the one you’ve just left, you have a better chance at happiness and good fortune and probably a whole host of other things. Traditionally there’s far more to it than tossing all your old clothes into a box to take to Goodwill. Jumping over fire, sweat lodges, or even the Polar Bear Plunge are a few of the more well known physical methods of renewal, though you wouldn’t find me doing any of them, thanks. No, I think I’ll stick with reorganizing my pencils.

In a way, though, I’m using this impulse to get rid o’ shit as a sort of realignment of my...psyche? Mental cupboards? Aura? Whatever you want to call it, I’m definitely doing it. Much as I may let things stack up around me, I am definitely a slave to my environment. Every so often I have to have a mini-blitz to get this place into a less cluttered state or I cease to be able to function. It takes a while, of course, because I can also be stubbornly and willfully oblivious to things piling up around me, but sooner or later, something’s gotta give.

Before the foundation of the house does.

Kidding. I’m on cement slab. I could invite sixteen elephants to tea and while it would ruin my laminate it wouldn’t do a darn thing to the substructure.

Honestly, though I’ll be the first to admit it was likely beyond time for this clearout to happen, I’m not entirely sure what it was that finally lit enough of a fire under my ass to actually do it. Maybe it has something to do with my new job. Maybe it has something to do with my consistent lack of a date. It most certainly couldn’t have been the pact I made with my editor that if she did her dresser, I’d do my desk… ::shifty eyes::

Maybe I was just finally sick and tired of the dust.
Whatever it was, it was about damn time, and the urge to tidy up has extended itself beyond the confines of my desk and into my closet, my kitchen, my pantry, my living room, and...okay, I’m out of rooms now. I told you, it’s not a big place. But it’s getting closer and closer to being clean, and I suppose, ultimately, that’s the main thing.