Randomly had the tv on for white noise yesterday as I finished my syllabi for the upcoming semester. Oprah was on. She had a professional organizer on, if that's what you call it. I watched a family's home, immensely cluttered, shocking. The guru cleaned them up in three days. But it was what he said that got me going: clutter anywhere in your life makes a statement about something about you. Well, duh. I have my living room pretty darn clutter free and I feel good here, as do friends and Leila and Sarah, when home. But there is clutter shoved away in both bedrooms; the single closet holds three computers, good, but no longer in use. My younger brother has been giving us his used computers since we moved to NYC, and I'm thankful, but with each upgrade, I remain holding the older one and they have built up. I've got material on them, possibly, so I am keeping them for now. But Oprah got me thinking: I have to remove all clutter, maybe not as wildly huge as the family on her show, but big enough for a NY apartment.
I knew I had to tackle that closet and the rest would unravel and reinvention would come to me once again. Yes, you heard me right: I have ONE closet in my apartment. Welcome to New York. I knew this was going to have to become the pivotal point of my organizational recreation.
So I started last night and collapsed into bed after taking a bath, sweaty clothes in the corner beside broken printers,a fried iMac, and speakers and stands. A huge pile of clutter on top of Leila's bed, but the closet in Sarah's room is cleaned out. This morning, I've written a long laundry list of what to do with each room. I've made myself a healthy breakfast burrito of eggs, cheese, celery, one whole tomato, onions, and jalepenos. I'm drinking coffee; got the music on, and waiting for the charge to start again.
What I love to do most.
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