Spring cleaning schizophrenia

I cheerfully threw out the boppy, the baby toys and the burp cloths without a passing glance or a twinge of regret. Ditto the half-used pack of size 3 diapers, the pacifier clips and dozens of pairs of outgrown children's shoes. Ruthless in my determination to say goodbye to the clutter without sentimentality, I tossed them all in a flurry of decisive activity.

I bagged up my old work clothes for donation, though it pained me to do so. Those suits had hung there untouched for 5 years now, but I'd never been able to bring myself to pack them away before. I was honestly distressed to see that part of my life go (despite the fact that it's obviously been gone for so long now), but I was also fully aware that even if and when I return to the workforce, I will never return to pleated pants. Out they went.

I sorted through my underwear drawers, tossing dozens of items that should have been discarded long ago. And then, inexplicably, I tenderly returned all of my stretched out, threadbare nursing bras to the drawer. Really good nursing bras are hard to find, and I just couldn't bring myself to let go of mine just yet.

In the end, I cleaned things up, yes. But I didn't quite clear things up, now did I?