Just for the hell of having French as my thingy. I'll change it to German soon, maybe.So, sorting out the messy room. I've learnt that I've far, far more photographs than I remember having taken, been in, or been given; many of these are hilarious, many moody, many just plain fantastic. And others abominable. I've discovered that I really did spend a lot of time drawing, scribbling, painting when I was younger (enough to fill several French 'bags for life', certainly). I've unearthed cards I'd forgotten, postcards I'd not laughed at in a while, and many, many letters - most of which are fabulous, and, at most, a couple of years old. This time I've left the journal-reading till another day, instead choosing to shove them in an old shoebox (I also discovered some lovely shoes I'd forgotten I had; probably because there's generally not the occasion enough to wear such,) where they lie along with the photos and some letters. I've chucked many clothes, little games, silly scribblings (kept some, too,) as well as giving some things (GCSE rubbish - old books, etc) to neighbours, whilst a lot remains in a heap (I'd like to say 'neat pile', but the wine squishes my want to pretend that I am so very tidy - organised? yes. Tidy? sometimes) - a heap on my floor.
The art stuff has been relegated to another, smaller shelf (and also tidied up; it is purely 'art stuff' there, atm), whereas I'm making room for more books, to put my shoes somewhere, to try and make sense of what I want to use, what I am going to use, and not just what is comforting to open the wardrobes and look at (besides the poems, and other things - flyers, etc - which I've stuck on the insides of the doors...) I've also concluded, quite happily, that it is time, and I am certain it is time, for quelque chose to be stacked away at the back of the wardrobe, or put in a plastic bag (maybe entitled, maybe not), and then lifted away into the loft.
Arranging is relaxing.