I’m not instinctively tidy. But I do like a bit if order, so usually get around to having the occasional clearout.
Since making myself a thinner man and a single ban I’ve repeated the art of chucking out rubbish and donating clothes to charity. And kept my room relatively tidy.
On diagnosis last year, I started filling up a small number of boxes with stuff that I didn’t want to throw away or thought the kids might like. And, despite the morbidity, I’ve wanted to add to that effort since getting home from my last USA trip.
The problem is, I have an element of struggle. If I drop something on the floor, it’s difficult to pick it up. Reaching through a crowd of pharmacy bags to get the half full big box seems beyond me. And more importantly, organising my stuff for a room swap which will take the stairs out of my life, feels overwhelming.
Its not even as if I have loads of stuff. I rent a room. I moved in with pretty much one car load of stuff with a view to starting my life again following separation / divorce. I certainly didn’t expect a death sentence a year later.
I think back to childhood visits to great aunts. They weren’t very exciting. But I was always struck by the relatively untidy homes. That’s not to say that they were disgusting or anything severe, and they were probably better kept than my own bedroom. But I get why things weren’t always put away where they should live. Too much effort for aging bones perhaps.
One way or another I need to organise my head. Decide what’s important and prioritise paperwork and drugs relevant to me. But the actual effort of doing it all seems huge. But I’m at a point where stairs are getting tough. I need to move rooms.