When I was a little girl (and, okay, also when I was a not-so-little girl), my mother would put me in my room and tell me I was not to come out until it was tidy. She would close the door tightly behind her, and I would look around at the enormous mess that had piled up, not knowing where to begin.
An hour later, she would look in and discover that I was reading a book. "Evangeline!" she would scold. "You haven't done a thing to clean up this mess!" She would then heave a big sigh and say, "Sort out the clothes. Put away the ones that aren't dirty, make a pile of the ones that are."
Off she'd go again, and because it's much simpler to have your mother wash, dry, fold, and put away your clothes than it is to sort them and put away the clean ones, I'd make a giant pile of all the clothes and get back to reading my book.
"These were all dirty? Really?" she'd ask, but then she'd focus on the next phase. "Now pick up all your papers. Go through them, decide what you want to keep and what you want to throw away."
Step by step she'd walk me through the process of tidying my room until we'd be down to a heap that neither of us quite knew what to do with. "Well," she'd finally say, "it won't go away on its own."
So we'd tackle the final heap. And some of the things that I'd elect to throw away she (in moments of sentimental weakness) would fish back out of the trash sack, finding remote places for them in my room.
Other things she'd be desperate to get rid of but I'd tug-o'-war for, saying how I would never-ever-ever in a million years part with it.
I'm better now at sorting, cleaning, folding, and putting away. What I have yet to conquer, however, is what to do with the final heap. How do you sort the treasure from the trash? When does something move from sentimental to disposable? And if you think you are ready to part with it, are you really? If you throw it away today, will you regret it tomorrow? Or will it be something you never think about again?
~Confessions of a Serial Kisser, Wendelin van Draanen
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Be wise.