on making carpet angels

    I've come to realize something that I hadn't previously known about myself: I really like open space. Not in the "untamed prairie" sense (though that's fine, too). It's more of a personal thing. Let me explain.
    When I was married, my spouse and I were quite focused on acquiring stuff. It didn't even really matter what the stuff was - we were very into the acquisition mode. Books, furniture, shot glasses, coffee mugs, clothes (which we shared, more often than not), booze, odd spices and foods...whatever it was (and the weirder, the better), we wanted it.
    We lived together in a 1-bedroom house the summer after we married. Then moved to a 1-bedroom apartment. Then a 2-bedroom apartment. Then a 3-bedroom house. Then a brief stop at a very small 2-bedroom "penthouse" condo (i.e. above the garages in the front of the 4-unit building) before buying a 3-bedroom house. Each of these places started out reasonably empty (except the condo, which was half the size that we needed) when we moved in, but were somehow miraculously crammed with stuff before we moved out. When we bought the house, an entire room (one of the living rooms, which we came to call the "front room") was totally empty. It was a quite large space, probably 25 or 30 feet wide and maybe 20 to 25 feet deep. It had large windows and some lovely, new, off-white carpeting. The cats and I would sometimes stretch out on the floor on sunny days, napping and playing.
    I loved that space. I loved that it wasn't cramped, wasn't being encroached by furniture and stuff. It was light and open and somehow all the more wonderful for the fact that there was nothing to do there.
    As will happen, it eventually became just another room. Books were arranged onto the built-in shelves, and a bookcase was fitted beneath (where the previous owner's piano had been). Several plants on stands and tables were placed in the sun, where they flourished like they never had before. Over time, both desks and the file cabinet also made their way in. It was no longer an open space, but one in which I was prone to stubbing my toes on things, or tripping over cat toys and books that I'd left in the middle of the floor.
    My apartment now is pretty big for one person. The kitchen has lots of storage space (though I still haven't figured out where to stash the quesadilla maker!). There are three closets, plus ample storage in the laundry area. Two bedrooms ought to more than hold all of my clothes and books. I shouldn't really need to store more bathroom stuff than can fit in a large medicine cabinet, the vanity under the sink, and a three-shelf stand besides.
    I also shouldn't really need seating for thirteen.
    The weeding out has begun. I took two of my dining room chairs to my parents' house, to store in their basement. (Another two are in Fluffy's basement, though I really should retrieve them before the kittens scratch them to bits.) This weekend, I'm planning to set up an eBay store, to handle some of the extraneous stuff that came with me out of the marriage. (Anyone need a Beanie Baby? Or a coffee mug? Perhaps some books???)
    I want to have open space. I want to make space for nothing. I miss having nothing.