At The End of It All

I’m almost truly at a loss for words. I’m on the verge of great emotion, and I don’t really know what to make of it.

I’m also on the verge of a fresh new hell, a work week, so I don’t know if I’ll properly get to resolve these feelings any time soon.

But let’s at least set a scene for you. The scene is here, my apartment. My trusty digs, my long beloved pad. I love my apartment. Say whatever you want about the decor, it’s an original. I’ll share pictures this weekend when I’m all done, but trust me. Lots of bookshelves, antiques, cool knickknacks, great art.

And somehow I’ve let it all go over the last couple years. I stopped caring about my place and maintaining it became the unruliest of chores.

This past weekend, all three days of it, were spent in conquering the clutter and the excessive packrattish attributes, and rediscovering that long fabled quality of “order”.

And now my home looks better, more organized, less cluttered, and more ready to entertain than it has looked in years. In fact, it has never, ever been this organized, and I’m not even entirely done yet. I understand how to finish it now, and if what I see already is any indication, by the end of this week, I will have dramatically changed my life.

I had this thought right before this posting began that I want to explore more but now’s not the time. It occurred to me that I now have nothing left to hide behind. This place is straight up, simple, and open. Just like I’m trying to become again.

I’ve managed to purge about 15% of what I own over the weekend. A lot of shit. I’ve probably hiked up and down the four flights of stairs about 20 times this weekend, carrying as much as I could on every single load. I’ve taked at least five trips of scooter-laden stuff to donate. All of that 15%’s been recycled or donated, and I’ve only created one bag of trash. (An accomplishment in itself there.) But what I’ve been getting rid of, and there’s more ridding to do, isn’t really important. It was just stuff. (Still, I’m about 90% done in my apartment, and the stuff that’s left is easier to do.)

Now what I have is a home with space and openness. A place where I can finally find the peace I need.

And I cannot convey to you this incredibly mixed cloud of feeling and this emotional exhaustion I feel as I look around with pride and think “this is my home“.

I think this is what has been missing, what has prevented me from enjoying being single — whether single alone or single in the company of men.

After all, my home’s always been a great card to play in the friendship game, or even the dating game. Anyone walks in here, they instantly see there’s a lot going on behind me. Men absolutely love my apartment. I don’t know what specifically does it for them, but that’s the one thing I do know. They love my apartment and love to hang out here. And men or women, there’s nothing that amuses me more than watching people react to all the little things they find when they start looking my place over.

There’s nothing that makes one realize how little pride they’ve had until the pride returns en masse after its long absence. That’s just one of the curious new emotions I’m feeling this morning.

But most of all… it’s exhaustion. I could sleep all day. Instead, I’m off to work. And way to go, Giants. One hell of a last-minute play! Damn that was a great finish. Believe, man. Believe.