This is me pretending

BLOODY HELL.  In my attempt to copy and paste text, I somehow lost an entire page of writing. Wow, that was fun.  I guess the good news is that I was getting way too introspective and nothing positive can ever come out of that.  So it's probably for the best.

Don't make fun of my hardback, special Twilight editions.
Unless you WANT to get beat up.  Your call.

What I should have been writing about, instead of all that self-awareness crap, is that I've been attempting to clean out my retreat, for reals this time, and it's not going well. I'm taking the "pile by pile" approach.  Which doesn't work.  All I do is move things from one pile to the next.  I'd like to just empty out the whole room and only put back what I love, but where would I put the spill-over while I do that?  I have no idea.

What's really killing me is that I can't just do a blanket clean and toss like I have in all the other rooms I've divided and conquered.  Sure, it's easy to put a dish in the rummage bag, but what the hell am I supposed to do with all of these pictures?  I don't scrapbook anymore (I make books online and have them printed and shipped) so there's no point in keeping them, but a lot of them are shots of my babies, for crying out loud, and how strong do you people think I am anyway?

Jeez, and the books.  I've got so many books that I will never read again, and books that I love but would rather read on my Kindle because I am a poser.  I've got a boat load of scrapbooking supplies I feel I need to keep in case I'm ever inspired to start that up again. And a bunch of recordable music CDs because we apparently live in 1998.  (Don't get me started on our very old music collection on tape and CD.)

Skilly is unimpressed with my dithering.

It's a lot of stuff that I don't want, but I can't get rid of.  I don't know why.  I just can't.  I'm a minimalist failure.

Now, pass the coffee and chocolate.

Linkin Park, My December.  Man, I love this song.