So.
I went on Holiday last week. Yes, Holiday with a capital H. Holidays are a big thing for us. Since Boy and I have been married (two years and 5 days!) we haven't been away on our own with me not being ill, at all. I was dreadfully ill on my honeymoon. I had pyelonephritis (or pyelitis) - which put simply is E.Coli in the kidney. I'd had it once before, but until I'd had it diagnosed the second time, I didn't know that that was what it was the first time. So that was in August 2009. I was in hospital and everything. I was in HOSPITAL! On my HONEYMOON! Grr. Anyway. Between then and a trip to Paris 6 weeks later for my 21st, I'd had pyelonephritis again. And then I had it in Paris. And then I had it in October. And November. December was a good month. So were January, February and March. April was not a good month. In fact it was a very very bad month. I spent a whole week in hospital being rehydrated and treated and doped up with morphine. But that was 2010. Surely we'd be safe to go away somewhere and me not get ill now, right? In 2011. A year and some months since lasting having the infection.
No.
I was sick. Not pyelonephritis sick. Vomitty sick. Which is a big deal for me - I haven't been physically sick since I was 11. I'm now almost 23. That's a long time. In fact, it's long enough to forget what feeling sick feels like. It's gross.
Luckily, I did not get as ill as my fellow holiday-goers. We went with our roomate/lodger/my-best-friend-of-all-time and a couple we know from Church. First, our good friend Mr S got sick. Really really sick. All night. Doctor called out and everything. Whilst he was getting better Mrs S got sick. Not quite as sick, but still out of action all day sick. Then roomate/lodger/my-best-friend-of-all-time got sick, just as they were going home. Boy and I were staying on for a few days on our own. Then I got sick. Ugh.
All I can say is: "ah well." I've been worse, and I'm thankful it only last a day for me, and that I got over it pretty quick, and that Boy didn't get it at all. I don't really mind being 'normal' ill anymore, because not many people realise quite how sick I was in the first year of my marriage. Anyway, I tell you that to tell you this:
I want a simpler life.
I've just spent 8 days in a beautifully simple cottage in the
absolute middle of nowhere in Weshland (that being Wales.) There was no junk. No clutter. No distractions. The cottage wasn't covered in stuff. Wasn't packed to the brim with 'belongings.' Just had what we needed. And did I miss the junk and the stuff and clutter I had left at home? No, not really. Sure, I missed some of my craft stuff, and I missed having the internet (it only took me two hours to trawl through the 203 blog posts on my reader when I got back earlier today...) and I missed having loads of baking stuff on hand to just 'whip something up' with. But did I miss the clutter and the mess? The feeling of forever walking into 'stuff'? No.
Now don't get me wrong. I love our flat. So much so we've just signed a contract to say that we'll stay here for an extra year (which is a big deal for us as we've spent the last two years trying to move away...). I like that it's quite small (although I wouldn't say no to a bigger place, obviously!) and I like that it's 'ours' for now. I like knowing that I'm definitely here until next August, and that I won't have to face moving in my holidays, again (5 houses in 2 and a bit years...). I like that it's full of 'our' stuff - as opposed to somebody elses - and admittedly, it's mostly
my stuff. But I want it to be simpler. I want it to be cleaner, and smoother, and tidier, and less cluttered, and more lovely. I want to get rid of stuff I've been keeping just because somebody gave it to me, or because I think I might need it in ten years time. I only want to have around me the things I want; not the things I think I'll need at some point.
So, from here on I'm going to try and achieve a new
goal by the end of 2011. I want to be decluttered by Christmas. I've started already - whilst unpacking I condensed the contents under our bed somewhat significantly. I threw away some stuff, and re-packed some of the other stuff. Our bedroom is one of my biggest bug bears. We don't own a wardrobe - which is not ideal. We have a chest of drawers each (mine is bigger) and then we have two hanging rails, of which I use about 95%. My poor Boy. He doesn't seme to mind. He doesn't own much stuff. I, however, do. I've been through my clothes many times and I don't think I can get rid of any more stuff. I'm a layers girl; and layers means lots. That's just how it is. That's not to mention the two bookshelves of books we own (currently condensed to one, because one is being used for storage in the kitchen, so all our books are double stacked, which I hate.) or the ooooodles of other 'stuff' I own. It's going to be hard, and a complete change for me, as naturally I'm a hoarder, but I want to do it. I want to live a much more 'open' life, if that makes sense. And this is how I shall start.
I've been slightly spurred on by reading various blogs talking about making money - not because I'm particularly interested in making more money for the sake of it, but because I admire the way these people live their lives - so I'm thinking I might try and sell some stuff. I'll let you know how that goes.
I have lots to tell you about Wales, and a surprise birthday party, and businessy stuff, and something that's been on my heart alot lately. But I think that should wait for another day. For now, let me show you something adorable:
Meet Sherlock....
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