Rearranging, decluttering, and moving on

I'm a pack rat. Anyone who knows me, knows that. My place is a mess. My office is a mess. I'm a mess. I can't keep anything I own or occupy clean and tidy. And I'm a librarian? I'm good at keeping other people organized.

This weekend I decided to declutter. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic with all my crap. I made plans in my head to pack things away, get rid of other things, and move crap around. Yesterday being a state holiday, I began the move. I packed up my CDs.

This may not be a big thing to some people, but it was for me. I bought four tubs that would fit a single layer of CDs, and I filled them up. I don't know how many CDs I have. More than the average, but not many for a music geek. I probably have around 550. I rarely listened to them, because by now I have everything on my computer and iPod. I am not ready to part with them, because 1) I still buy CDs (I'm not a fan of iTunes), and 2) if something happens to my computer or iPod, I still have the music. I'm not ready to go completely digital. And I am not sure I ever will be.

I'm not as much of a music geek as I used to be. And you know what? I miss it. I miss obsessing over this shit. I miss going to the record store. I miss flirting with the dude at the counter. I miss talking about music. I miss discovering something new. I miss friends, and I exchanging CDs of whatever we were obsessed with at that moment. I think three things are what I miss most: talking about, discovering it, and telling others. I guess it is the social aspect I miss more than anything. And boxing up my CDs made me feel kind of like I had given up on that. I was letting that part of my life go. But you know what? I don't want it to pass. I want to be part of it, but I don't feel like I have anyone to obsess with. Anyone to talk and discover with. I miss having people--both people I knew and those I didn't--around me. I miss living in a music town.

Now, some feel this town is a music one. Most bars and restaurants have performance areas, but they are rarely used well. Last night I sat in one part of a ginormous bar watching basketball while some acoustic dude sang bad cover songs all of this was competing with Salt n Peppa's "Push It" coming through the wall separating the sports room from the dance room. How is that productive? I've seen Elvis Costello and The Hives in a crappy-ass bar in this town. British Sea Power and The Rosebuds will be at the same bar in a month. That's all cool, but the thing is, I don't think people here really appreciate it.

This could be the music snob in me coming out, but when I go to shows at this particular crappy-ass bar, it is filled with overly-done-up sorority girls and fraternity boys who pay their cover to sit in the corner and talk. Why pay a cover just to talk when other bars are free? They have zero respect for those who are there because they want to see a band or performer. It frustrates the hell out of me.

Is this a music town? No, not really. There is a small scene, but it is pretty exclusive. I am too old to be a hipster. I don't want to be a hipster. I don't really fit.

So, I packed up my CDs. It was kind of like admitting this part of my life was over. That I've moved on. But I don't want it to be over. I still have my iPod. And I bought the little cord so that I could hook it up to my stereo. And I didn't pack up my CD player. And as I was cleaning this afternoon I found several CDs I missed. Like most music geeks, I find CDs in almost every room in the house.

It still means a lot to me. When I put the iPod on shuffle, inevitably something comes on that makes me stop in my tracks and memories from this, that, and whatever come flooding back. So, maybe I can get back into it. Maybe if I put some effort into it, it'll mean something to me.

In addition to packing up CDs, I packed up other stuff--even some of my dork-ass action figures (I left out Leatherface, Edward Scissorhands, Janis Joplin, and Bob and Doug McKenzie)--and moved furniture. I spread out my snowglobes. I dusted. I hauled a kitchen butcher-block-table/shelf thingee downstairs from the spare room (it was in storage), and I carried a small bookshelf upstairs to the same room. All by myself. At one point I had to stop in the middle of the room and sit down. I had completely worn myself out. To say that I hurt is an understatement.

I have more cleaning and rearranging to do, but I hurt. A lot. I think I may kick back in my PJs, order a pizza, and then take a nap. That is about all I have the energy to do.