One of the things that I'm most proud of, is the fact that I have painstakingly decanted several lifetimes of memorabilia/possessions/clutter, into one life, my life.
I have, over the years, joked that my home was a work in progress while secretly and diligently considering every book, photograph, tram ticket, item of clothing, piece of paper with writing on it. You name it, I inherited it, Mum's cousin's stuff, Mum's stuff, Grandparents and Aunt's stuff, anything, anyone of my departed ancestors could, save, collect, adore, has passed through my hands and has been considered.
Occasionally, I wish I was someone who doesn't feel anything, who doesn't pick up a table cloth and know that it was a wedding present to my Aunt, look at an outfit and know that my Mum wore it on her honeymoon with the love of her life. But, alas, I do feel... everything. Deep down, I know that they are all just things, just objects, yet I work hard to detach the emotion, the memory and the legacy.
The people that care about me, that love me, really don't understand what all of this entails, but I forgive them because how could they understand when they haven't had to go through it themselves?
I don't think that you're ever truly 'done' with de-cluttering. That top that you love now, in another 6 months, will languish in your wardrobe for 18 months before you notice it again and decide to... de-clutter.
I'm going to say that I'm 95% done... everywhere. If you knocked on my door today, I would only have to add fresh bedding to the bed in the guest room and we'd be done. Impressed? I suspected as much. Love you x
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