How little we need

Today I had had enough. I couldn't open my daughter's wardrobe due the two enormous overflowing toy filled bags that were in front of it. I sighed. Time for the spring clean. 4 hours later, we can open said door AND my son can now see his wardrobe floor. Sproglette and I have tussled over every toy and managed to fill 2 bags to go to charidee and 2 for the bin. I have yet to tackle my son's toys - that will maybe be the summer clean.

Plus today I read of Daisy Goodwin's house burning down and how she literally had nothing bar the clothes she stood up in, and whatever she had in her handbag. I felt an odd emotion creeping over me - one of almost... envy. Now that is frankly bizarre I know. But apart from my old diaries, some old photos and the baby gros I brought my kids home in, my mothers day cards and er... a toy hippo I have had since I was 7, I don't have much sentimentality. I HATE clutter. I have few clothes, one make up bag, a drawer of products and no fancy jewellery save for my engagement ring.

It made me realise how little I value material possessions. Sure I love a good moisturiser and a lovely White Company throw, but ultimately I don't really give a flying fuck about having swanky stuff and endless ornaments and tat. I read about a guy who had just one of everything in his house: one plate one cup, one pair of jeans, one chair, etc and it sounded insane - and blissful. Goodwin commented that wearing the same clothes for 3 weeks had made life simpler - a uniform of sorts. Obviously it is hideous having to be uprooted and all the horror of dealing with insurance companies and memories of things once loved now gone - but oddly it has made her happier, and I understand why.

We clutter our lives with objects and gadgets and trinkets that we think will make us happy. For a brief spell they do. The delight when getting a new pair of shoes is a good few weeks of joy. But ultimately it is just 'stuff' that gathers on shelves and in wardrobes and often we forget we even have it.

I am regular de-junker. Sometimes I think, in not regularly buying our kids toys - unless it is special treat - have we denied them? I have walked into homes where the kids have more toys than you could shake a stick at. But my kids never want for anything - and I'm more about 'lets go to the park/eat ice cream, go swimming,' than 'lets play with a lot of plastic.' Once they have outgrown a toy I am unsentimental (bar Woody and Buzz who I love madly) about lobbing them into the charity box.

There are drawers in my house that are filled with sellotape and odd stuff from Xmas crackers and batteries and playing cards. I often de-junk these but somehow the junk creeps back. For some reason, I hate stuff, I love clean lines, empty spaces and very little on display. I feel secure when everything is tidy and in it's place. To say I have OCD wouldn't be a lie.

Husband has even less possessions. He barely buys clothes and has never really cared about having anything apart from SKY tv and an iPad. He often says that all he needs to be happy are us and a good bottle of wine, a movie trip occasionally and maybe a book or two.

It is funny the older I get, the less I need, the less I want. The fancy shoes of my 20s lie at the back of my wardrobe gathering dust - holding too many memories to throw out, but yet I will never wear them again. They are from a different life: one that involved heels and lipgloss and 7 outfits to present all the week's continuity in. But my life now is a school run; hunched over a Mac feverishly typing. If I go out for drinks, I'm as likely to be in trainers/converse to comfortably run for the last train home. Slinky dresses and pencil skirts with towering heels are just not in my world.

Is clearing them out confirming what I know - that life has moved on and will never be that again? Do I hold onto the one pair of Manolos, the beautiful Westwood skirt, because although I know they won't be worn again, I'm somehow still unable to give that girl up?

Anyway, nothing has made me happier this weekend in my de-cluttering. (Apart from my daughter telling me she loved me more than all the dolphins and fish in the world - and er... werewolves and dogs). Plus I'm off to see It Follows - a horror movie date with husband is one of my favourite things - and yes, you've guessed it - I won't be wearing heels.

Lunar Tempo

I can hardly walk, bend down or climb stairs. I am THRILLED.

I am back at the gym. Back in the hands of sweet Paul with the nice eyes who makes me hurt from every possible muscle. I think I love him. That, combined with body combat and the fact the sun is shining and my endless period has ended - has made me, to quote Pharrell - Happy.

Thank god for sunshine and for throwing one's body around in bizarre contorted shapes, because it will be the salvation of me. I have managed through alcohol, cake and a lot of bread,  oh and crisps - goddamn them - to put on 8 pounds since the start of December. Now, off they must come.

Exercise not only helps my heart and my stomach, it also helps my mind. Which is why I invested in a brand spanking new pair of trainers that will arrive later today. I think I may love them as much as my children. Stepping into them, I will feel like a new person. One who will enjoy running. One who likes a lunge. Not at a man I may add. They shout 'she exercises' and look like the kind of thing athletes or those who know how to lift a kettle bell wear. Nike lunar tempo. Almost poetic eh? In them I will become a new woman. One who likes blisters and has firm thighs.

When I get them I know it will look like a elephant putting on some ballet slippers. It is that much of a paradox. But over time, we will become one, this shoe and I. I will eventually earn the right to wear them.

For Mothers day I am asking for stretchy legging things instead of a cake and flowers. Most of all I need new headphones. (Although I did read a disturbing article today that runners with headphones are more likely to be attacked).

I have 5 weeks to lose ten pounds and become ready for summer - so that when I discard those jumpers there will be a normal human being underneath. A firmer one than there is now for sure. Day 2 of no sugar and bread and rice and pasta and spuds and all the joyous white food that exists. I'm going pretty good - even though Husband dramatically opposes every SINGLE thing my trainer has said about diet. Trainer thinks I should just be a panda (look at the size of those fuckers) and eat plants and not much else. Husband thinks that is wrong and you need meat as your protein source to build muscle. He mocks trainer - and whilst I am desperately wishing he is jealous of me giving my attentions to another man 2 hours a week, it isn't the case.

So trainer Paul says eat lentils and sweet potatoes and no meats - fish is ok - and lots of veg. Husband says fuck that - eat LOTS of meat and veg and cheese and good fats all cooked in coconut oil. I am confused, but at least not reaching for the biscuit tin. Life was simpler though when a bad day could be cured by cake and fine red wine. *Sigh*

I know that this 5 week torture will end, and I cannot go back to my cake guzzling past. I must venture into new pastures. So thank gawd I have my new trainers to take me there....

Wild

The days where the blackness descends, when my head is foggy and my heart heavy, when I don't want company or even comfort, the only thing that lifts me from my funk is hiding away in a darkened cinema.

I've been struggling a bit of late; my operation has left me with an eternal period and there is nothing quite as draining as an endless bleed. TMI? Like I care. I've felt despondent about everything - my appearance, my work, my general connection with the world. It all feels like a lot of effort, too much in fact, and I feel like I have nothing to give or contribute of any relevance.

The winter blues have grabbed me and have me in their frosty clutches. Perhaps when spring has sprung and the sun begins to shine, I too will emerge from my hibernation.

I feel like I've begun to look at things with a new perspective: really notice everything much more acutely. For example, since when did people stop listening? I mean really listening? Are meet ups with people simply to serve the purpose of letting someone hold court - pontificating on all their favourite topics: themselves and their favourite films, restaurants, their work, their exhaustingly RIGHT opinions, until you wonder why you are sitting there? Maybe just to be lectured at. If you vanished would they notice or even care? Since when did people think that their opinion was the only one that mattered and lose all graciousness when it comes to being interested in others?

God, I know I can talk for Britain, and heck, I love a movie debate more than anyone - but I hope with all my heart that I also ask questions; that I also am interested in others, curious even, in their lives, their hopes, their worries. That I am not just fixated on myself and showing off whatever knowledge I have acquired from someone else's writing and merely regurgitate it in some insecure way in the hope of impressing folk...

Lately I've begin to sit back and observe more. It is unlike me and yet it is a lesson I should have learnt a long time ago: you learn so much more from listening rather than talking. I see the incredible social awkwardness that exists in almost every sphere of human interaction. No wonder parties are awash with alcohol - what we would say to the person at a leaving do that we haven't seen in a year, if we haven't had 3 gins?

Anyway, yesterday I went to see the movie Wild, with Reese Witherspoon. It was breath taking. Incredibly moving and exceptionally well written. A journey of 1000 miles through desert and snow does not riveting viewing make - so kudos to Nick Hornby and the director Jean-Marc Vallee for creating such a captivating film. Witherspoon has never been better as the broken girl, walking herself back to the 'woman my Mother thought I was.' My friend Ayesha had read the book and long ago recommended it to me - I now wish I had read it. Without giving away any spoilers, Sheryl mentions her mother saying that every day there is a sunrise and a sunset and you can ignore it, or choose to see the beauty in it.

I'm trying to see the beauty. I know, shortly, I will.