I got up this morning and padded out to the front lawn in my dressing gown as usual - or so it seems these days - to deposit two half filled charity bags ready for collection. The family wanted to know what was in them and I explained, "just a few old books I've read and finished with". "It was just as well it was only books" they said later as the collector had slung them full force into the back of the van. This made me think of my 3 Beswick china horses I donated recently and I had a big anxious pang of guilt/sadness/insecurity mixed with beads of sweat. But to put things in perspective what were they but bits of clay fashioned into horse shapes and given two eyes, a nose and a mouth? It just seems to me that when I own something it can stick to me in a really toxic way if I'm not careful and hinder my wellbeing and personal growth.
On my mind at the moment are my stack of personal journals, medical papers about some miscarriages I had and a heavy leather jacket I got at a car boot sale but have only worn once. Also, there's too much stuff in my kitchen cupboards and I have an under the stairs cupboard which has its floor covered with stuff.
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