Day 154: Good Friday

Today I am good.  I throw stuff out.  Mainly books.  Every room is choking with the damn things.  So I get ruthless.  If I failed to get through it on the first attempt, and put it to one side to try again later, it must go.  If having read the blurb on the back, I still can't remember it, it must go.  If I do remember it, but it's unlikely I'll read it again, it must also go.  I forcefeed the Oxfam book bank like a Strasbourg goose. 

Initially I wince slightly as I bin some borderline cases, but that's soon replaced by a reckless abandon.  It would be very easy to cull the whole lot and reduce my shelves to Zen emptiness.

I also muck out my sock drawer - any strays are rounded up and binned.  I'm not unfair.  Every sock gets a chance.

I have a death row bag - a holding pen for strays, where they get a six month stay of execution.   Sometimes their opposite number turns up, and they're reprieved, paired up and sent back into the sock community.  If not, it's curtains. 

And there's no room for any injured players on the team - any holes or thin patches and you're out.  So far, so normal sock mucking-out.  This time is different though.  I also throw away all socks I simply DON'T LIKE.  

I realise that some of these socks I've had for years.  Because I will only ever wear them as a last resort.  So they're still intact, not worn enough to throw away.  Hanging on, taking up a disproportionately large slice of space in my life.  Still annoying me, when much-loved socks are a distant, holey memory.

Good Friday.  Good - as in no room for bad.  No bad books.  No bad socks.