I don't know why I have always had such a hard time letting go of stuff, but I have. Chalk it up to fear, I guess: fear of abandonment, of change, of never knowing which end was up and wanting something to cling to in the storm.

The good news? The dumping gets easier with time. It definitely gets easier when you've gone four or five rounds of being the final dumping ground for ancestral artifacts. Enough, already; I may not want to be able to move everything in my car again, but I'd like to be able to move freely about the apartment.

Today I took four bags of books to my favorite used book store, the Iliad, in its 'new' digs in North Hollywood. Amazingly, I took my trade chit and got the hell out without buying one book. I do still have another two-and-a-half bags to dispense, but The BF told me about his favorite used book store in Glendale, so maybe I'll try that next.

What I always find remarkable when I am able to let go of things is how it instantly creates room for other things to flow in. Not that I'm in a rush to fill empty space, I like empty space now, I don't fear it, but as I unload old books and clothes and movies that no longer serve, the things I am looking for appear as easily and gracefully as if a paid factotum had spirited them there.

Like two jackets, a suit, a shirt to go under them and a crazy, "And then there's Maude" burgundy coat to throw on top. I am going to be one styling motherfucker come fall. One styling motherfucker with a lot less crap to worry about.

And at least as much to look forward to...

xxx c

Photo of man in a suit in a bookstore (!!!) by idiotkings via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license. And no, that ain't North Hollywood...it's in the Netherlands.