I'm still not yet situated, even after 3 months. Tonight, though, I made some progress. After 4 hours of arranging, re-arranging, getting stuff at least out of the room itself and into a closet.
The top picture below shows the lamp and the suitcase that I'm putting out by the dumpster tomorrow morning. I feel bad about both.
The lamp, for instance, was an eBay purchase in my 2010-2014 one-room apt "phase." I think I paid about $75 for it. It was symbolic, since all I'd had in that room previously was an ugly lamp that my mother'd given me. This lamp, though, was ME... Yeah, well, the wiring of the top light stopped working long ago, and all of the cups were constantly tilting over, not perkily uplifted, as they were initially. With the top light not working at all, I didn't even want to bother putting it up for sale anywhere.
[p.s. About my insane, ongoing Guilt Complex: There's a note that I wrote attached to the lamp that I'm putting out by the dumpster tomorrow morning: "The top lamp doesn't work but the other 2 do." I need to explain myself and apologize to DUMPSTER DIVERS?? Flashes me back to my youth in 1980, when I was 14 and 15 or so... pre-driver's license. I lived out in the country, no way to get anywhere or do anything. In the summers, I was completely trapped. Yet one summer's day, my neighbor Marla, age 14, asked if I wanted to go driving around with her and her friend Bobby (who was 16 and had his license). You bet! I knew I had to get home by 5pm, when my mother would be home from work... As it turned out, Bobby got me home 20 minutes after 5pm. After 4:30pm, knowing that Bobby was going to get me home late (and knowing what emotional idiocy my mother was about to subject me to), I started bitching at Bobby; he calmly replied, "You just can't please some people." Sure enough, when I arrived home at 5:20pm, my mom was home, and I got so much hateful tension and stupidity. I could NEVER RELAX at home, could never do anything. I shut down. I read books. I watched the movies that came on TV. That's all I was allowed to do. I was not allowed to interact with anyone. If I did, I was punished for it. For instance, after this, I was forbidden from hanging out with neighbor-Marla. All she and I had ever done was prank-call people, lay out topless on her trampoline, and put on "Grease"-inspired shows on her front porch. On the other hand, my little brother, who participated in penis-comparing sessions with neighbor boys, slurped Robotussin for fun, came home high on LSD, and held parties at my mother's house in her absence... He could do what he wanted. My mother even paid for programs for him during summers, such as at the Fort Worth Nature Center. (Maybe I would have liked a young persons' writing or film program?) How she treated him versus how she treated me is sick.
Great example of my mother's mental illness toward me: She wanted me to come home immediately after my high-school graduation ceremony. ON THE NIGHT OF MY HIGH-SCHOOL GRADUATION! What a fucking idiot. (To my father's credit, he, visiting post-divorce, suggested that my going out after graduation was OK. At age 13, when I wanted to go to the skating rink, he made me put my hair in a pony-tail and made me keep my coat on (with threats if I took it off) -- to my humiliation, to my sitting alone all night...but at least he'd figured out how young people felt by High School Graduation Night. Why I give him "credit" for this, I don't know --- Graduation Night should be a given "nice moment" --- why I should be grateful for a moment of sanity, I'm not sure.
Oh, yeah, The Suitcase: One of the zippers is messed up. Yes, this is the suitcase that took me to and from NYC, and it's a big ol' thing that's taken up plenty of room wherever I go. If that one zipper still worked, I'd keep it. As is: I tried to fix it over and over again tonight, and the zipper STILL would not work. I don't know where I'll ever be going again that requires that big a suitcase. And if, indeed, I'm going to Morocco or someplace for a month... I can buy a new suitcase with a working zipper.
Picture 2: When I ordered my bedroom set (bed/dresser/chest/2 night tables) months ago, turned out that one of the night tables wouldn't fit in the bedroom. I shoved it out into the hallway, where it's been sitting for months, completely out of place. As it turned out, it fits just fine into the study closet (along with the seldom-used printer that had previous been sitting on the floor, but that also needs to be available).