Something's Funky in the Fridge

Last week was quite a week.  For several days, there was a faint streaming sour odor in the air. Oh yeah, time to check the fridge.  I'll get to it.  One thing about the rotten stuff in life -- eventually, it gets to the point where you just can't ignore it anymore.  

And so, somewhere mid-week, even the strongest magnetic seal of my upgraded refrigerator door could not contain the truth.  It always seems these realizations are running in a parallel service lane of my other, bigger life.  One way or another, I am going to have the point hammered into my head, it appears.

One day, I really want to sit down and write down a consolidated list of "Things I Learned in This Life".  This one is a whole chapter unto itself.  The Lesson:  "When You Keep Gathering, You Must Discard to Make Room for It."

As I excavate the produce bins and extricate those purchased (well-intentioned) farm-fresh, now slimy organic vegetables (gratefully) mostly contained in their original plastic wrappings, I am thinking of all the new "good for me" things I have added into my life, still hopefully wrapped up awaiting consumption.  (Exactly how many packages of provolone cheese are in here, anyways?) But there have been interruptions and so we ignore what we gathered, grabbed more and duplicated/triplicated what was already in the inventory (who can remember if we are out of mustard or not, really?), and soon, like the shelves of devilish expiration dated foodstuffs, I also find the parallel stacks of unattended projects, books unread, exercise videos unused, downloaded music unplayed, clothes to mend/iron, cards to send, and so it goes on and on... until... ewww.  It all looks so moldy and bad, and the smell, not so pretty.  

It's not altogether the worse thing in life.  Sometimes we need the nudge to get to the good part: the result of the sort.  What is good enough to keep, and oh yes, that baking soda freshness of the outcome yet another fresh start.  But first, you have to find the thing that's rotting.  It could be an idea that became a downward spiraling, looping obsession, an underachieved goal ripening into the slimiest pages being written in your autobiography, an opinion, an embraced offense, a missed opportunity, a gathering of just too much life and not enough space to consume it.   Oh the disgust.  When it comes to the place that you just can't take it anymore, then comes the edit down.  The closet discards, the trash bag parade to the curb, the room to move ... the quiet to think.  And in this space comes a rethinking of internalized stuff, too.  Time to bag that stuff up and toss it out, too, with the old veggies and moldy cheese.  Tossing it feels good (after).  And then comes... The. Fresh. Air.