I've recently decided that all the years of stuff I've accumulated and moved with is weighing me down. Surrounded by a bunch of ex's left behind items from the break-up two years ago, all kinds of cd's I never listen to and even if I wanted to listen to them, they're ripped into my iTunes library, lenses for cameras I don't own anymore, furniture I trash picked and don't really even want - and countless other useless items that a more thing-oriented Kristine of the past would have cared about. So the great purge that began a few months ago continues. This means Craigslist, ebay, Amazon, this means bringing bags and bags of cd's and dvd's to the Exchange, this means simply throwing things away. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of Hoarder you see on the show of the same name, but I have always had a hard time shedding and getting rid of shit, perhaps it's some sort of reverberation of my disfunctional childhood and how so many things were lost, sold, taken from me among our many, many moves.
I currently have 5 book cases full of books, papers and storage. But do I really need all those Stephen King paperbacks I read as a teenager? Is there any logical reason I still have a stack of final exams from the Intro production class I taught at Wayne State in 2005? Do I actually need a copy of a book called "Nonlinear Editing" from 1990? Seriously??? I admit it though, of all my things, I have a close emotional attachment to my books. They are the hardest items to let go of, and of course, the heaviest and most bulk building of any kind of moving situation. But I love their smell, the way they feel, the bindings and covers and colors and fonts. I love looking through books I've read for school, particularly undergrad, and reading my notes or the places in the text I underlined, highlighted and then I like to try and to figure out why I thought that portion was important, why it spoke to me, where I was mentally in that time and place and experience with that book. I like finding where I dog-eared a page, where I paused and picked back up again. I particularly like my books on film as well - theory, practice, biography, screenplays, analysis, semiotics, history. I mean, how could I possibly ever part with Herzog on Herzog? Or for that matter, the debaucherous and raunchy autobiography of Klaus Kinski?
My answer is this: slim it all down to a manageable size. Why not have 2 bookcases of books I adore (instead of 5 that I don't want or need)? Why not keep the cd's that are special, like my rare Ramones collection or special edition Madonna discs and get rid of the rest? Then, I can sell the extra bookcases and Ikea CD towers too, turning this bulk into cash.
Because that's one of the big points of this great purge. Cash. Since I am, in all honesty, pretty financially fucked, I'd like to get un-fucked and this is one way of accomplishing the goal of being un-fucked. I've raised enough in recent purge sales to pay off my tuition balance at VCU and am only a short amount away from being able to pay for my dissertation credit hour for the spring. I'll defend my prospectus, get official ABD status and be more hire-able and marketable for future work. I'll feel better about myself and the life I've invested in my studies and my career. And I'll be more mobile, free, less encumbered by the physical and emotional clutter that surrounds me. So while there are moments the purging hurts a little, there is a true sense of satisfaction when I think about the big picture, the things are important in my life, my dreams and goals. And I'm reminded of how resourceful I am, that I land on my feet, that this clever purging is indeed an exercise in self-preservation. So, goodbye Battlestar Galactica dvd's, goodbye Italian language disc set, goodbye self help books that Mira left behind. Good riddance.
