I went to the dentist the other day. He asked me if I spoke any Korean. I said no. He carried on the rest of the appointment in Korean. He gave me a mirror to witness how swollen the back of my gum was. It was his way of telling me it’s not a cavity. He went away and the hygienist draped this heavy, felt fabric over my entire face, except for the hole around the mouth. I didn’t know if I was about to get a tooth pulled or decapitated. Turns out neither. They gave me a salad of pills and something to gargle. It tasted like ethanol infused with cinnamon.
I sat on the floor to fold laundry. I love sitting on the floor. And at this moment, I loved folding my laundry. I could say hi to all my clothes. I KonMaried my living space again so everything has a soul. Now, I wear a button up every day to reduce decision fatigue. Button ups are androgynous and professional. I own exactly fourteen. They each have different fabrics and functions. My weekend button ups are short sleeved and patterned. They show off my tattoos and have a fun personality. The love for my button ups transpired through me and I realized I was kinda high off the extra strength acetaminophen.
This is so much better –– minimalism. I expected an almost empty apartment would be quite. It’s noisy. I empty the contents of my lady backpack onto my coffee table/desk. Oh shit, now I am minimalist. I pick everything back up. Put it in its place. Clutter is the enemy. Some things are homeless, like my notebook. I use it so often, it’s a nomad. I put it back on my coffee table/desk. I make a bottle of soda water. Flat water sucks ever since I have been sober. I greet the yoga mat that I initially ignored. It lives on the floor. Every day it invites me to practice and almost every day I refuse. My home buzzes with potential. I sit down, drink my soda water. I want to complain about the heat, but I hold it in. Winter is far, far worse.
My brother was always a minimalist. Now I get it. Efficiency. I just packed for my trip to Okinawa. It took me twelve minutes. I have extra time to blog.
Letting go has never been the issue for me. Once a year I would cut off my hair and rid of garbage bags full of stuff. But just like my hair would grow back, my room would accumulate more crap. Enough to where I would have to purge all over again. I could see who I wanted to be through the plexiglass.
Consumerism and addiction are married. It seems kind of silly to spend money on a dress that I would donate in a few months time. I shopped as a sport. To pass time, make myself feel pretty, or for the “free” centralized air conditioning. I used it to deal with boredom, as an escape. I see it. That little parasite of addiction. My definition of it is changing. It’s not getting the shakes. It’s using something to dissociate from your feelings –– whether it’s something small like internet shopping when you’re bored or getting wasted after a stressful day. Dissatisfaction runs deep and they don’t sell the antidote at Target. I’m glad I’m breaking the cycle.