It’s 2am. Not the smartest thing for me to be up at this hour, typing away at the keyboard. My chiropractor isn’t going to be happy when I go for a tune up in about 9 hours. But I need to get some things off my heart and mind. And, quite frankly, out of my house and my life.

So here goes.

I have WAY too much stuff. Stuff I’ve had for decades. It has followed me everywhere I’ve moved. Stacks of paper, creative projects eagerly started but eventually forgotten, photos that have no subject matter value now, whatsoever.

Hell, I even have this tiny stupid little goat that lets out one of those horrific screams when you push a button underneath the fake wood pedestal he’s standing on – in fact, he’s right here on my desk, staring at me, judgingly. At the time of purchase, though, he helped me make it through the last few months of full-time work before I made the jump to retirement.

My dad died over two-and-a- half years ago, and I’m still trying to part with some of the things that didn’t make it to the donation truck (or the trash) when we were selling his house. They should have… but I wasn’t ready… or maybe I was feeling guilty. Not sure.

Bags and stacks and plastic tubs of stuff.

And the problem is, I’m getting ready to start moving from my little house that’s been a safe harbor for the past four years. Thanks to “progress” and the Department of Transportation, if I stay, I’ll have a six-lane highway within 25 feet of my beloved patio, and all the birds will be gone because so will the trees – ripped out of the ground to make room for asphalt and concrete.

But it isn’t just physical stuff… it’s psychological stuff. Residue of the past 48 years of my life. Broken trust. People who didn’t take care of me when they should have. And those who just plain did a number on me and will take that with them to their grave with no remorse, whatsoever. Requests and obligations that challenge the difficult, yet positive, healing work I’ve done over the past two years because of all of this stuff.

I know I’m rambling – it’s why this blog was created – and it may sound to some of you like I’m playing the “whiny victim” card. But, trust me… there aren’t enough plastic tubs to carry all of this. And I’m not quite sure I want to go into detail about it at the moment. But some day, I will. Now’s just not the best time.

The Clutter of My Life. There is no way I’m going to pack up all this stuff and take it to my new place and pile it into a corner, so I can continue to look at it and feel the way I do at this moment.

I want my next chapter to be a fresh one, unencumbered by things, discarded ideas and plans… and people who aren’t who I thought they were for the longest time.

Back to the goat, though. I think I’m going to need him to scream for me a little bit these next few weeks, so he’s staying. And he’s got a cool little smile and goatee. Heh. I said GOATee.