Misplaced

Of course, the worst thing about having a tidy-up, is you can’t find a thing.

Usually, when I say that I can’t find something, I mean that I’ve mentally considered a couple of places it might be, then done nothing about actually looking for it.  Today, amongst the clear-up, I was looking for a product I had noticed the day before.  You stick it on the back of a painting, so that when the image is die cut, you can peel off the other side and don’t get in a mess with a Pritt stick.  There are two packets of these double-sided sticky sheets, and I cannot find them.  It’s the kind of thing I might slip into a bag of postcards.  Except now I don’t recall where I tidied them to.  I’ve found other art supplies I was mentally looking for a few weeks ago (none of them in the locations that were in my mind’s eye) but not those.  Annoying. 

I must simply submit to what the Universe wants; stop procrastinating and finish the studio tidy-up.  On the plus side, packed away some more books that are surefire category ‘to go’.  What was I thinking with all those self-help books?  Did any of them work?

Jury’s out.

Am finding things in cupboards that have been there for approximately sixteen years and never thought about or remembered.  The work stuff.  A few years ago, I wasn’t ready to get rid of work things. 

I felt lost. 

As if, what was the point of my career if it’s just shredded?  What was the point of me?  I realise those sorrowful feelings were partly fear of the future.  Now, it’s easy, the natural way that things are let go, when the time is right. 

Perhaps those books did help, a bit.