The Great Spring Clean has ground to a temporary halt. Not because of the massive amount of body aches from playing with the youth... but from an ache of another kind.
The first two closets tackled were Becka and Rachel's and Charlie's and mine. In the girls' closet, I was surprised to find it mostly contained Cameron's stuff. I could have sworn we got it all in storage (save some totes with little's stuff in my closet) last year. Everything of hers is now packed up and in the storage container at Mama's house.
Cameron has asked us to mail her stuff to her. However, what she wants is for us to pack it and drive it all the way to Mount Pleasant ($15 in gas) and put it on her UPS account. 1) She has way more than one trip in stuff and we simply don't have the money. 2) I doubt she really has the account anymore. 3) She only calls when she wants (demands) something.
Charlie mentioned we should mail some stuff to her then the same day a local deputy made his twice yearly visit to our door looking for her. Granted, he's looking for her by her previous name... but he's looking to serve her papers related to a debt. I've considered giving what information I have... but not only do we not have a number to reach her, we don't even know if she's living at the same address.
We stood before a judge, as did she, stating under oath that she was not changing her name in order to escape debt. Given the fact that I'm expected (and have been told to) lie on her behalf, it amazes me she has accused me of lying to the judge about wanting to adopt her.
If she wants her stuff, she knows where we live. We're not holding it hostage and it would be cheaper for her to rent a u-haul and come get it than to ship it all. She doesn't even have to see us. We could set a day and time, have the container unlocked for her with all her stuff up front then have our nephew (who is care-taking the property) lock it back up when she's done. Take some freaking responsibility for yourself and stop expecting us to ease your habitual running away every few years. You'll just be leaving it all somewhere else soon anyway.
pbfft... Okay. Rant over. It's a shame and it's still sad and a source of anger at times but It's been put to words so I can let go now.
If I were less prone to allowing my emotions to rule, I'd let go of my room and tackle another area of the house. If I were smart about this, I'd leave my room for last.
But nooooo... I jump whole hog into clearing the clutter and end up falling apart over a box. It's not going into storage. I promised Charlie when he saw me packing it that it would stay in our now clean closet. It's a fairly large cardboard box with "The Crew" written all over it. It contains all my printed blogs and pretty much every piece of paper, scrapbook and memorabilia we collected since 1998. Reese's book, her art portfolio and the little's collected toys are in separate totes but have been in the closet for ages. Everything now in the box has been on wire shelves in my room for as long as we've lived in this house.
The next step was supposed to be cleaning and packing all (but 3 of) the stuffies in a large garment box. It's NEEDED. They collect dust and animal fur, they clutter the room and add to the physical and mental stuffiness of the space. Charlie and I would breathe better if they were packed away.
But I just can't bring myself to do it.
Something tells me if I finish what I started and let myself write and talk about the big "I" (integration, for the uninitiated) I might be able to let the stuffies go without feeling I'm somehow packing away The Crew. Stop holding in every relevant thought and feeling and maybe it won't feel so much like I'm packing myself way in storage.
I'm almost afraid that putting it all away.. okay, most of it... would be the literal equivalent of mentally creating a wall to hide them. Watching United States of Tara doesn't help that idea. It reminds me that I've tossed all their stuff before only to have them reemerge... but then my life isn't a tv show and I know that I know that I know they aren't hiding.
How do I find the balance between letting go and holding on too tightly to let go at all?
I know the answer is in here somewhere... I'd just prefer not to think about it.