It has been two months since my babies left for college. I have spent that time while not traveling largely alone. I am struggling to find a consulting work or a full time job. Right now I am out of prospects and feeling about the same as I did when I was 16 and couldn’t get a date if my life depended on it.
So I am entertaining myself by dieting and trying to sort through a lifetime of papers. So far I am half way through a box of 2003. If I can live to be 100 with nothing else to do I should be able to get it all done. In the meantime I have turned my house into this total mess. There are papers everywhere. On the floor I have this good looking box I bought on sale last spring. This is the box I will take when they tell me I can only take one box to the nursing home. Most of the items only have meaning to me, but they are things that remind me that I was loved.
I have also been playing mailman putting various pieces of paper in my kids rooms. I am drowning in my own papers, so I am leaving the decision on tossing to them. Except of course for those various “important” paper that I can trust them to know the true value of i.e. sport schedules and homework assignments.
On the kitchen counter I have a crisscrossed pile to be filled. Interesting, because filing has never worked for me. Years ago I missed a trip to London because I couldn’t find my passport. I even took a day off of work to look and sorted through a mountain of paper. Later I found it, in my file cabinet in a folder called Passport filled under P.
So in the end does it really matter where we put this stuff. I have buried enough people in my life to know that most of one’s things get tossed out in the end. I just need to dig through all these paper to find those little pieces of gold to go in my the box I take with me to my last home.