# In Which Heather
## Unwinds the Mess of a Lifetime
## Carries Herself Through the End
## and Owes a Beautiful Debt

The same jumble of stuff has followed me everywhere I've lived. A cluttered landscape has defined my living space. A bottle cap I saved during a field trip. A neat rock I picked up on a walk. A parking ticket peeking out of a stack of (probably) junk mail (but I really should check just in case).

Laundry and dishes had the most urgent turnover. In my mind, avoiding rot was the non-negotiable baseline. And failing to meet this minimum has been my most reliable indicator of when I'm trending depressive.

But in the rest of my house, the clutter grew from every available surface. Each piece reflected a memory back to me. Structured, tangible proof of something I did, or had to do. Items were added with each new experience I held on to. Trash and trinkets and thoughtful treasures, ebbing and flowing with the tides of my life. I did, and do, believe these things hold value. Humans tell stories of ourselves with the things we allow to surround us.
But it's okay for me to let go of valuable things.
It is okay for me to tell a different story of my self, on purpose.

## ᚍ

A little while ago, a friend helped me assess the mess, then laid some groundwork in my kitchen.
Scrubbing the crust off my stove.
Cleaning the mold and old smells from the corners of my trash can.
Lining my drawers with parchment paper to calm lingering fears of past vermin.

They were extremely generous, and their work motivated me to clean out some of the more unsavory messes from my fridge, and everythig that had frozen solid in my freezer.
But then I left that all in my trash can, cuz the bag wasn't really full and there was more stuff in the kitchen I could take care of tomorrow.
But then tomorrow came and I didn't really end up cleaning much
and later, the mold came back.

"This was entirely preventable," I told myself scornfully, "and, honestly, wildly insulting." 
And so I finished the job that should have already been done.

## ᚍ

Later, my friend came back to continue their work in my home. 

They pulled every last scrap of everything from all the places I had hidden it. They scraped a decade of grime from my oven window. They took out everything which didn't belong there, and settled all that remained of my kitchen in a definitively tidy state.

"I'm glad I didn't have to re-do the work I did last time. That would have sucked."
Silently, I high-fived myself.

## ᚍ

All that night and all the next day, I kept wandering back to sit at the kitchen table. The feeling in that space held me dearly. I wished for it to hold true in the rest of my home, too.
So I kept working.

From my journal:
> Comfort.
> Clarity.
> Peace.
> `
> Today marks the second day I've made breakfast and eaten it at my table.
> Buttered toast, sprinkled with cinnamon & sugar.
> `
> It's just so _right_.
> Even the details.
> Empty bottles & vases & candlesticks in the window.
> I thought about adding a candle, but I realized the emptiness was a _part_ of its rightness.
> `
> The toast wasn't enough.
> I take the empty plate to the sink, and take a bowl from the drying rack.
> Huge bag of store-brand cheerios.
> The milk is almost empty, but any more will drown my cereal. I return the last sip to the fridge.
> `
> I keep making small tweaks, treating the kitchen as an almost-finished work of art.
> Oddly, my brain lumps "washing dishes as I cook & after I eat"
> in the same category as refining decorations.
> `
> ...
> `
> I am thinking and acting differently than I was two days ago.
> I want to be more like this.
> ...
> The barriers which once frustrated all progress have simply vanished.
> I always knew they were illusions, but now I can just walk through them.
> `
> Familiar comforts no longer entertain me.
> `
> Sorting through my clutter is _fun_.
> `
> Cleaning every dish, and knowing they're all clean.
> Holding each book, and knowing what to keep.
> `
> Why was it never fun before?
> `
> Why, suddenly, is it now?
> `
> `
> But Why is unimportant.
> I know what I want to be, and, indeed, already am.
> `
> It is the maintenance which takes work.
> `
> Good night. Let's do this again tomorrow.

## ᚍ

My friend blessed me with incredible momentum.
I used it to work for six days, resting and stretching throughout in respect for my body.

I worked, and sorted, and discarded with callous glee.
Then I put everything else back, in order, with intent.

I knew I was done when that same feeling of peace bloomed in the space.
Everything felt settled.

I stand, now, and think:
_This_ is a solid foundation.
_This_ is a good place to start.