I’m allergic to dust—seriously. A few years ago when I went to the allergist for the first time, after some poking and scratching at my surfaces, he discovered that I’m allergic to dust, grass, trees, and cats.
I like cats. I had one for nine years, but then its nine lives ran out and I didn’t have a cat anymore.
I don’t like dust. I mostly leave it alone. I tend to treat it like I treat strange dogs, I walk by it quietly pretending to ignore it so it won’t bite me.
At this point you can start humming “Another one Bites the Dust” by Queen.
Last Monday, I began purging in my dining room. If you decide to purge, don’t do it in front of others. It can get ugly. Anyway, my urge to purge comes from an overwhelming need to own less. My eyes are constantly assaulted by STUFF. The fact that we have walls of open bookcases in the living room and dining room doesn’t help (although they do look nice—John built them, so of course, they’re wonderful).
My urge to purge is also inspired by Ann Amenta, my dear friend who had a stroke last September. Ann is the most generous person I know, she always gives dollars to homeless people, and months ago—even before the stroke—she gathered piles of clothes and books and treasures from her house and delivered them to a charity...not once asking for a receipt.
After seeing Ann last Monday, I decided it was time to tackle the dining room shelves. I should mention here that Ann sent me home with six white bumpy bowls and a stack of square white little plates, when John saw them he slapped himself on the forehead. Too many dishes. Too many bowls. To make room for Ann’s presents I better start elimination. Purgery was about to happen.
By the time I finished culling, the dining room table was crammed with goodies someone else would love (and dust). But all the Windex in the Costco jug couldn’t tame the dust. My nose was dripping like an outdoor faucet you accidently run into with your father’s car. (Don’t take that personally, Laura). And then the sore throat came along to keep the runny nose company.
|Loaded dining room table|
So for the rest of the week I sat on John’s recliner sniffin’ and drippin’. The massive (not exaggerating) allergy attack turned into a bad cold, then to avoid pneumonia the doc put me on antibiotics.
But, listen to this, all the time sitting in the chair I was itching to sort out more bookcases and closets. Purging is highly addictive (Ann warned me).
My granddaughter, Kristen, is coming this afternoon to select treasures from the dining room table. Grandson, Ryan, wants to snag a few goodies too. The dining room cabinets look emptier and better than ever, and John gave me a dust mask from his workshop (the garage).
Next week more purging will happen! Dust be damned. Is an addiction something you do even when you know there might be suffering afterwards?
Here's a tidbit (interesting or not). In my book, Intentional, a novelthe main character is named Dust. Hmmm?
If you've read it and would like to give it a rating and/or review go here: http://www.amazon.com/Intentional-novel-Lynn-Arbor/dp/0986220604
Every review counts. I've sold or given away a total of 110 books. There are 15 reviews (Thank you, reviewers!) I'm greedy, I need more. Please...