mindcrap

I recently looked around my room, surveying the mess that had accumulated over the past year. I began counting the bags that I saw.

When I reached 50, I stopped.

Fifty! More than that actually, because I lost count after 50. And that doesn't include the bags my mother and I share (sosyo).

Egads. How could a person own so many redundant things? This morning I resolutely pulled down several bags from the racks and threw them into a large paper bag. Time for some mid-year cleaning.

I retired a beat-up cotton bag from college, a flaking faux leather bag from 168, a very stained black bag from mama's friend, and some others I mustered enough strength to say goodbye to. I started to feel good after about 10 bags. Tomorrow I'll get back to the lot. Maybe I can manage to clean up my entire room, too (cross your fingers).

They say your room is a reflection of your state of mind. If this is so, then my head must be a complete and utter mess.

Here's the thing: I don't disagree. Which is somehow ironic because I pretty much have everything in life at the moment. Life's a blast. Things are going great.

Yet there's a queasy feeling I just can't let go of. Something at the pit of my stomach that just doesn't feel...right. I can't pinpoint what it is, what causes it and where it leads to. All I know is that it travels through my body and settles in my head, trumping my otherwise brilliant logic. It contradicts what could be a perfectly happy condition. It completely messes things up.

God, what is that? What is this illness, this...syndrome? I need to know because my head is this roomful of beautiful junk, and I think I may need to throw some stuff away. But what?