byootaful

Over the past week or so, I’ve spent a lot of time going through piles of stuff at home and throwing out things we don’t use or need. Some of it is going to charity, some is being sold and some is going in the bin. I guess the correct term is “de-cluttering” and boy, we’ve got a lot of clutter! We’ve lived together now for nearly five years and in that time, we seem to have gathered enough furniture and bits and pieces for a whole family, even though it’s just the two of us (and the cat, I suppose, but she doesn’t require bedding and computer desks and power cables).

I’ve enjoyed the de-cluttering process – there is a certain satisfaction I get when I look in a room or a drawer and instead of being cluttered and messy, it’s neat and organised. However, there have been a few moments when I’ve sat down and felt a little depressed at what I’ve been finding in amongst everything – things that hold memories and regrets and things that are really hard to part with.

I’ve found a lot of photographs of when Phill and I were little. We were both so cute! I spent a while sitting on the carpet, looking through them, oohing and ahhing over baby Phill (so blonde! so chubby!) and giggling at my ridiculous dress sense at various times during my childhood. There were photos of my brother and sister and I when we were little, posing with massive smiles in our daggy 90′s clothes. Remember when bikepants were cool? I don’t see my siblings much these days, so it was nice to have a little reminisce and remember the days when I didn’t have to worry about rent, or work or exams.

Something I found rather difficult was to go through piles of books and study material from my days as a university student. I spent five years at uni and came out with two degrees – but I’m not actually using either of them (at the moment, anyway). It’s been incredibly hard to find a job within my specialty and I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings about it. I’ve felt everything from guilt and anger and regret, to feeling like a complete failure.

I decided to store the majority of my university things because you never know, I might need them one day. I’d hate to finally get into a wonderful job and then wish I’d kept them. It was just a little hard to look at all the work I’ve done and think about how hard I studied – to end up in a completely unrelated job. I feel almost like I wasted my time at university (and I know that’s a terrible thing to say!) and all I’m left with is a huuuge debt to pay off.

I was relieved when I’d finished with those boxes and I moved onto the linens, which, of course, don’t hold such memories. It’s hard to confront things and look back on choices you’ve made and wonder if they were the right ones. It’s harder still to talk about it, because I guess that means the issue is real, and then you’ve got to deal with it!

Ok enough whining, I’ve got blankets to sort.